Lawn

This is for the forgotten rocks that used to adorn this place

And for the buried moss that used to soften their sharp edges

This is for the rolling meadows that undulated from shore to peak

Carpeted with purple camas blossoms that weren’t merely decorative

But part of the food chain

This is for all those variations

Blown up and smoothed away

Made level so that we could roll out more ubiquitous lawn

Colonizing originality with green banality

We have made preemptive strikes against authenticity

Tagging the earth with neon green invaders

Which we mow and trim and water and feed

So much trouble for nothing much

For a crop we don’t eat or use except to display dominator status

Reaching for a reflection of noblesse oblige

Borrowing the suggestion of nobility from squandering fecund fields

For rolled sameness, green lameness

In the pool table flatness that surrounds us

We no longer see nature because we’ve suppressed it

We draw comfort in our control

Seeking the eradication of variety and surprise

For mono-cultured submission

Into the green blanket of conformity

 

 

David Trudel     ©  2013