Work It Out

I cram the mower in deep under the
overgrowing hedge
I need to clean things out. The two trees just over
who year in year out vote deciduous
Once again their last year’s half-rotted leaves
set in strata by the clever fingers of winter rain
are tight-packed up against the skinny twiggy
hedge stalks
Dense stacks of leaves all but glued together.
I can undo them. I slam the machine forward.
The whole row shakes. The switchy hedge stems
agitate in timid anger. The lawnmower roars
in triumph
hands me a bonus:
a flourish of wood chips sprays across the dirt
the fallen remains of a rotted branch I didn’t see
and I wouldn’t have avoided if I had
because
I’m in that kind of mood.
I give the mower another shove.

6/4/19