When I was growing up, I mowed the lawn
Just like most teenagers I knew.
It was what you might call
A pain in the ass.
We had a full half-acre backyard that sloped
And a monster of a gas-mower. That bastard
Used to hate being started and I spent
At least a few times kicking
That total piece of crap.
There was a side-yard and a front yard, too.
Now that it’s been years since I’ve moved out
And I’m living on my own, with no lawn
In concrete-filled Chicago,
I can’t believe I actually miss doing it.
The chore would take about an hour,
I’d be exhausted and smell terrible
An unholy cross between gasoline fumes, sweat, and
cut grass.
But there’s something about those memories
I can’t quite touch anymore, and even
When I go help my parents,
Mowing the lawn during their vacations,
Something’s missing.
I wish I knew what that was.
D.H. Lee
(via benpicco)