Saturday Poem

SONG OF THE NORTH AMERICAN LAWN

I must learn from sidewalk cement.
Be a little less impressed
by every passing footprint.
Stand tall. Spring forth.
After all, I win every Mexican
standoff with the sky—
the sun backing down,
the moon clearly phased,
half the man I am when mown.
Stars are always first
to blink, and clouds sweating
over me make my thirst
their priority. Even the tallest trees,
looming above, trail off
when it’s foggy,
and the signs of local parties
driven into my chest
can’t kill me.
The heart, bypassing politics,
opens new paths
like an anthill healing.

From Pure Product (2009) by Jason Guriel