Welcome to Cozy Poetry Corner by Debra A Winter (Richter)

“Aliens, Ba Humbug: Ratification Begin Soon!”

(A story in poetic form)

It’s eighty-eight balmy degrees today;

What a fine hot and humid day to cut the hay.

Hay–oops, I mean grass, sorry about that;

Got to get off my lazy butt and watch for the cat!

Heaven forbids the grass is over three inches long.

I see the aliens have landed all over my lawn!

Some with yucky yellow heads, some with dirty white.

Got to cut those creepy things down; they’re an ugly sight!

The clovers I don’t mind, though they’re not my favorite kind.

Their flowers are dainty, supposably a sweet, tasty find.

Dad, said, “Clover flowers are delicious. I prefer my hearty red meat!”

I tell him he can pick them himself. He can have them all to eat.

Me cutting the lawn is not a crazy grass-cutting, clover-eating beaver.

I won’t look or pick them, for Dad or try one either.

Yet I love the smell of freshly cut alien cut grass–

Though I get headaches, from filling the lawnmower with gas.

When I move out, electric start my lawn mower must be;

Otherwise, someone else do a pull start–I’ll say, “NO, not me!”.

My shoulders bum, my hips, out of whack,

I’ve got a pulled disk right in the center of my back.

Now to mow with a gas-powered mower, I can’t just plug her in,

Push the primer–come on, baby, start–so I can take you for a spin.

Now to be bored to death: back and forth, up and down,

No rock and roll, just the mowers humming, what a sound.

Shaking my arms till they’re sore, with the ground bumpy as can be,

This mower cuts pretty sparingly around every tree.

Two more swipes across this big lawn–now an alien-free yard,

I’m so glad my human lawnmower battery is a Diehard.

Looking back at the job I just did, it looks mighty fine, I do say;

This has been a heat-scorching, muscle-wrenching, fine day.

Yeah, finally, no more aliens three-inch grass to cut;

A few hundred calories have burned from my gut!

Ah, now I can enjoy the fresh smell of freshly cut grass,

And pour myself a large lemonade into a chilled glass.

Nothing could be more refreshing than this–

Except a loving compliment from my girlfriend, Miss.

My work is done. I can relax for the rest of today.

No more aliens, in my dad’s field of hay!

Author note: Written after staring down a yard full of “aliens” (a.k.a. dandelions) and realizing they were winning. No clovers were harmed in the making of this poem, but my back definitely filed a complaint. If you’ve ever battled a stubborn mower or burned calories you didn’t ask for, welcome to the club.