Cut Grass in Snow

All day long
night is my storm lantern.
I carry it into the farm land
cutting into my harvested emotions
covered by snow
edging them in half
in front of me
see me open and bleeding.
I’m seeded like a small orange
pit me out and devour me
spit the pulp and seed
I step on the jagged edges
of my feelings and sense my pain
cut stretched skin with glass shavings
torture under toes hurt badly with pain.
Pitch the stuff with damn black top
if it makes you feel relieved.
Don’t laugh at me like a circus clown.
I’m 61 and my dimples show smiles
and crinkles.
This day is a lawn mover
even in December
when machinery is to be shacked up
and covered.
I plow beneath the white surface
cut rotten leaves beneath settled snow.
The aggravation,
the cultivation
the nonsense of hell with a runny nose.
In spring the grass never pops up right.
All day, night is my storm lantern.

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