Still Green Waves

Every muscle aches, ones I didn’t know I had
Beams across each palm where the bare handle sunk in
I flipped out at the machine, barged it past points it seized
Pushed and threw my might against it’s primitive, stubborn controls
The grass outside is a mess
You can’t say it’s not cut
But you can’t say it’s better
The miniature meadow with warm hued flowers bobbing on still green waves
Tall weeds, made grand amongst their peers
Shed their stigma, they aren’t ashamed here
Grasshoppers in camouflage and lost ladybirds
An eyeless striped caterpillar climbs to the peak of a bowing blade
Curls up to the sky, extending to stretch, basking in the sunlight
I cut it all down
Not cleanly, not gracefully
Arduous and ugly, thrashing and hacking
I only hope this gave them all time to flee
To feel the rumble of the end and take one last look at their home
To feel lucky to have absorbed some measly beauty in such a short life
It will grow back soon enough for me, a creaking pain to tend to
But for them it will never exist again