Powered by three extension cords,
The dervish spool spins wildly, as
A thin plastic strand somehow levels
Oak and maple seedlings,
Plantain, stinging nettle,
Ragweed on the leach field,
A June duty, a need, we were advised,
Lest roots take hold.
One neighbor trims his field flat,
A kind of stubbly putting green;
Another lets it grow unchecked.
A seeker of the middle way,
I want it to look as though given thought
And leave the yellow touch-me-nots,
Born of seeds our grandson spread
And those royal ferns my mother loved.

Inside, Martha is straightening up
The address book, repository of information
We do not need but are afraid to lose:
How to reach distant cousins overseas,
E-mails from beyond the grave,
The folly, dolesome but required,
Of cutting things off at the ground.

-- Robert Demaree