the great wide lawn

with each
pass
of the lawn mower
the man
stops
to wipe his
brow.
the sun
high above
him. he checks
his watch,
the machine
still
on and churning,
then pushes
forward.
all afternoon
he criss crosses
his great
yard,
year into year.
the grass
never ending
it's cycle
of growth. his
wife looks
out the window
to watch
him. they've
always wanted
a lawn
like this,
and now they have
it, and it
them.