Mowing the Lawn

The sun is a watch that constantly falls out of sync

my palate is invaded by lucid beginnings,

Will the ice cream drip on the sidewalk… Or nah?

It is melting because it is so terribly cold outside.

The musty stench of freshly cut grass permeated my nostrils,

my arms feel like duct taped watermelons.

Detta är min längtan,

the gentle chainsaw of heartbreak,

the sound of deteriorating conversation.

My fingers fumble along the cool bricks,

and the intoxication bubbled up on my face.

We broke down the wall with our bare hands and reflected the joy off of our fingernails—

it was as refreshing as a car accident,

but soon the broken down wall would just as easily be built back up.

(Colonel Mustard, in the dining room, with a candlestick)

I had to tie my shoes so that they would stop kissing the pavement,

The grass hadn’t been cut in years.

My sister is traveling alone to Tanzania today,

eastern clarity.

Even as the bike tire expressed its need for rest,

Krissy stared out the window without actually seeing,

carefully drawing doodles with a distracted hand.

I’ll have to check the time so that I can lose track of it again…

And the mower zipped back and forth across the lawn.


About kscoughlin2013

I'm a full time college student studying English Literature and Secondary Education, a part time dreamer, and occasionally I write a decent poem or take an okay picture.
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s