Lawn


Every jaded blade of grass in my yard
is clipped short, brought low,
subdued for a time,
leaving my house a white island
upon tamed verdure.
Tonight, as my dog
patrols our border fence,
I hear a distant siren
slicing across the face of the moon,
causing some faraway hound to howl
in protest
or solidarity.
Don’t worry -
it’s not too loud and
I’m not disturbed.
My dog finishes walking his beat
and we go inside,
leaving behind that
evaporating knifeblade siren,
a wailing alert
pleasantly incontiguous to
my obedient green lawn.