Suburban Mornings - A Poem (from "Speaking to the Darkness")

New Jersey, USA

The first stirs
of morning
arrive as shrills,
whistles, tweets,
against a backdrop
of dewy, dark nothingness --
so blankety soft and still,
I can hear my own breath.

But as the world illuminates
from below,
burly groans emerge,
the whirls of man --
mowers, weeders,
saws and blowers,
their racket so loud
windows are mere
membranes now.

I must endure the
hours of manicuring,
primping,
the shaping of Nature,
into a green "couture"
landscape,
to be appreciated
by the few who
saunter or drive by.

By Mary E. Lohan