Pastures New (Poetry)

They’ve been and cut
the grass again —
more brown than green
ungrown since
the last time
it was mown.

The dust has
settled back
no breeze no rain
the noise moved off —
their bully blades
have gone for now.

No daisies
it’s too dry and maybe
smarter weeds have learned
to keep their
heads down — it’s better not
to stick their necks out.

And, it seems, no one here
in this too stuck-up town
likes trees —
they hack the old ones
standing tall and proud
into crippled shape —

lop limbs off
call it ‘tree care’
while they butcher away
hating all that’s green
even the dandelions have left
for pastures new.