So its a gorgeous evening & I'm feeling spunky.
Birds have chirped & crickets are cranking - loudly.
What else is there to do but grab the lawn mower & cut until dusk.
Make that dark...
Dew is descending (or ascending)
& alls I cans sees is the wheel marks in the grass.
But baby, I'm making progress - line upon line, row upon row.
This thing is cutting smooth tonight.
When I get out of range of the street light,
I gun down one last section before I park that puppy
- that pushing beast in the shed.
I am a stud.
I come in, aglow with manly sweat
& my wife asks what I have been doing...
I resist the urge to "Duh" her...
20 years of marriage teaches a guy a thing or two
(& that's about all for most of us guys).
With a confident smile of accomplishment,
I proudly tell her I was cutting the grass
She should be wowed - in the dark - "what a man",
but instead she is bewildered
"I didn't hear the mower" says she.
"Are the windows open?" asks me.
"They sure are" says she.
I step to the window & hear the lawn mower running.
This is getting weirder each moment.
"Excuse me" I say, stepping caustiously to the shed.
It is silent, the mower motionless...
I run to examine the fresh cut lawn - flashlight in hand.
It isn't . . . No clippings.
Yet, I hear the mower, the mower... or is it...
no it, can't be... stupid crickets.