'The Lawnist' revisited

The SRN doesn't know who this lady is, but she's been tending a stellar front yard garden at 125-127 E. College, Waukesha, for years. There are a few others doing this in town, and such a lovely alternative it is to the monotonously tended grass lawn.

If you're going to spend inordinate time in your yard it is foolish to do it mowing and edging grass. This woman has a long-established colorful plan.

It reminds us of a verse penned here, entitled

The Lawnist

The tuneless tantalizer is at his tiny tines again,
showing our one-block-long street
how to wrap our leaves; how
in the face of raw nature's fluttering intrusion
never to sound lawn-care retreat!

Yes, it's true, the lax commoner rakes his leaves
to curbside and waits for the city vacuum patrol
to eventually come

and suck up the colorless artifacts,
but A true Lawnist -

and he is one - cannot countenance the slug's delay;

in never leaving leaves to new wind,

the requisite re-rakings must bereave the rascal's eves.

Moreover, he's almost - have we not noticed? -

got his grass golf-course-grandiose; gr-r-r-reat!
The perfect shade of green and blade count per square inch
so close to being on the weedless button,
albeit by means of contracted and self-ministrations
of many merchanted murder-lizers
and species-endangering sprayed spuriosities.

That,
and his criss-crossing, thrice-weekly mowing patterns
are to me a head-in-the-grass reality avoidance,

a harm, illicitors of ill-begotten
yawns.

Thus,

The Lawnist packages leaves that aren't even his,
some of them,
in plastic drawstring pajama bags
and trucks them elsewhere to sleep; city-dumped.
Fast,

before the vacuum truck might traumatize

his pedigreed grass roots
with too much harsh suction.

He's invested too much of himself
in his monk cell-sized tract that

is in no way to be trumped.

Soon snow will fly, another of his property blights
which will demand of his ordered lawn creed
incredulous shovel-rounded snowbanks
at his sidewalk's rulered edge,

no matter how deep the snow becomes.

But,

I in an unthrown spirit of slowly-mown grass,

formerly done with a push reel,
and eternally shifting leaf piles
will offer my counterpoint of

a jagged serpentine snow lane,

a studied randomness
garnering from the grumpen Lawnist

neither a summery hello
nor a wintery thanks!

................................