Blades
many a morning
she sat on her narrow drive
and scooted along with a pair of scissors
conforming each blade
no wild weeds here
and in the fall
she’d gather dead leaves
and black bag ‘em
and carry ‘em across the street
lining them up just so
but some things could not be controlled
bike treads and hydrant dogs and solitary soles
would come and go
and if she were in her right mind
this day
those cars parked on her lawn
haphazard
would be towed
far, far away
TL