Early this past summer, we were roused from our beds in the wee hours by a madman weilding a mower in the graveyard behind our house. I was bothered and bewildered by this nitwit. The following poem attempts to give the reader an impression of my outlook at the time. Recently, a local paper in my town, The Community News, published this as a letter to the Editor.
Rude Awakening
Rise at 7:00 all week long;
Joining daily grind.
Friday comes, heart swells with song;
Week’s end peace o’ mind.
Sun goes down; it’s time for bed;
Smooch my mate a kiss.
Pillow’s soft, I sink my head;
Ah! At last, such bliss!
Zzzzzz
What’s that buzzing round my ear?
Sounds like giant bee.
Swatting, yet I still can hear,
Whirr relentlessly.
Squirrel screeching -- lost its mind;
As my brain-fog clears.
Rush to window, draw of blind,
Confirms my worst fears.
Do I dream? Is this for real?
This on Saturday?
Who’s this numbskull – with such zeal
On his merry way?
Snipping tops of grasses,
Snarling round the stones,
Stirring up the masses,
Shaking all the bones!
Hour hand is showing,
7:00 it is not,
Yet persists he mowing
Cemetery lot!
Begging question’s surely,
What’s inside his head?
Trying to finish early,
Or maybe wake the dead?
Kathleen Mortensen © 2007
