Ode To Grass

To my grass, my lawn that I cannot maintain to our neighbours’ standards. Theirs are lush, flat, living but too green. Mine is not just grass: Dandelions erupt, patches of clover, moss, and dry dusty spots. But I refuse to call the Weed Man.

To my grass: please grow. I like to sweat and work over the lawnmower that has a screw missing. I like to watch bunnies hop along and nibble in the early morning.

To my grass, thank you for making us sneeze. To grass everywhere, planted by seeds, not molded by plastic. Not mini-putt carpets. Not spiky green plastic on my sushi tray. Not grass.

Mine is grass because it is not just grass.