Thursday, September 3, 2009
Here in Cali we ditch our lawns.
We compost and mulch and sandy loam.
We gravel and stone and soaker hose.
We river rock, re-pot, and ration up.
From the beach, through the desert
and up to the mountains we syphon each drop.
We are the water agents keeping vigil.
Saving stagnant puddles to feed our crops.
We force a futile attemt to top off our rain barrels.
We wait and watch and wonder
knowing that we'll collect not much more
than a stirring leaf stew.
We stagger our sprinklers to go off every other day.
We flush our grey waters out and on to our back yard.
Still, the forecast tells of a very wet winter.
So why the heck are we hoeing to hard?
We visit the grass at the neighborhood parks.
We make it a play date of the lounging and stretching sort.
We roll round, and itch and scratch and sneeze.
We play like dogs, wiggle and chase and bark.
We return to our own former play area
We find a new frontier of wild life.
We look, we spy and analyze this new arena.
We hitch our hammock and pitch our tent.
We light battery torches rather than flame.
We settle in and shuffle about reasoning.
We ready our thoughts for our nightly game.
We slice cucumbers and dip them in "Old Bay" seasoning.