Every week the grass grows too long.

Blades of grey that sli-

ce the air

But softly touch

We worry however

That our toes

Sink

Too

Far.

So they wake up the monster

That lives in the shed

Give it a drink

While it roars in anger

It’s hunger scares me

Dining orderly

One.

Row.

At.

A.

Time.

A just war

Accidentally sparing my toy

On purpose