city boy

as he looks

out

the enormous plate glass window

at the front

yard

which angles

down to the street,

which angles

down

to the woods, then

highway,

and beyond,

where the fluorescent

lights

of an Exxon station,

and a chicken

out beam brightly

in the early morning

fog.

he wonders how long can

he keep

doing this

for free room and board.

he's a city boy after all.

but

the grass is high from

all the rain. the weeds,

the bushes

and briars

need to be gone.

the dead tree too.

the lawn mower waits

in the garage,

full of gas

and oil. choices have

dwindled away

so, he'll pull the string and get

lost in the muffled

roar.