Gardening

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by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015

I hate the sound of mowers in the morning
it means the neighbour’s going to cut his grass
I know it won’t be long, before the same old song
“when do you think that you’ll get off your ass”

“The neighbours garden always look so lov’ly
and ours looks like the hard way through the pass
I do what I can, but you know that you’re the man
so get off your ass and go and mow the grass.”

I go out back, and stare down at the mower
the mower sits and stares right back at me
I pull on his rope, he coughs like it’s a joke
then settles back, I tried, but its not to be

I go inside and make myself a cuppa
she comes out and said “my that was quick”
the mower will not start, so I’ll just rest my heart
then try again, and maybe hit it with a stick

“You can get the clippers out, and clip the edges
I see they have not been clipped for quite a while
or maybe you could even do some weeding”
she’s good, she says all this without a smile

So I go out and get the garden clippers
and test them on a blade of grass I see
maybe they just need a little sharpening
it could make the job much easier for me.

I go into the shed and get the whetstone
and settle down, the blade across my knee
the mower stares, and I stare back
then cut my hand and blood is all I see.

   I guess the garden needs to wait another day
   my wife is tending to my injury
   the cuts not very deep, but I think that I will keep
   this woman who is looking after me   

(I know it does not rhyme much at the end, but who cares, no gardening today)

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