To Redeem a Dream of Freedom

Once again it falls on me to be the one to say
that biding my time from here to eternity
to see if the lawn has sprung a flower
watch out for the Honda lawnmower:
for I mow the grass where the Plough aligns.
I try to keep to neat, symmetrical lines.

When the first, fresh, redolent, enervating
scent of change begins its fermenting
on the ego-loss breeze it is my duty
to the Natural World and all its beauty
to mow the grass – a foot high with neglect,
it was today, but owing to my respect

it’s been cut down, mowed over. Well,
I love the smell of petrol more than the smell
of a fresh Christmas tree, and to do
something with my life is also new
reward in itself. It’s not like I get paid -
but it redeems a dream of freedom in my head.

Now when my mother looks out the glass,
she doesn’t have to look at foot-high grass,
but sees her plants in all their little pots,
their little de-institutionalisations and bets,
and the dog rolls around like he’s found
Paradise down there on the ground.

John F.B. Tucker
 
If you have any thoughts on this poem, John F.B. Tucker would be pleased to hear them.