The Great Crash of 2017

Summertime in Georgia at Mustache World Headquarters
Is high time for mowin’
‘Cause the grass sure likes growin’
The field ain’t level nor flat and it’s peppered with holes
And there’s always a threat
Of thunder and wet
Tall trees tower over the edges of the open space
So when morning or evening shadows fall
It can seem like I’m hitting a wall
You’d think with so much rain I’d never have to worry about dust
But with every turn it’ll rise
Covering my hat, whiskers and eyes

Well, so between all the dust and the shadows and sun I wove
Up and down and across the field I drove
Turning a wild weed pasture into something closer to a golf course fairway
I’d turn my head when I had to go through the red clay haboob
And slow down a touch when over toward the trees I moved
There’s no regular grid on this patch, I go here, there and thataway

If you’ve never mowed grass
Here in Georgia, take a pass
If you’re squeamish about wildlife surprises
You need to let your senses do
‘Cause there’s a lot to pay attention to
But none are as important as your eyes is
More than once these last few years
I’ve often had to swerve and veer
As summer’s cycle goes through its flow and ebb
But when you’re shade and dust cloud blind
It’s hard not to accidentally find
Your face plastered with a giant spider web

It could have been a mighty crash
I could only use one hand to thrash
And fend off the critter with my spittin’, slappin’ and blowin’
It just goes to prove with real aplomb
How true is that ol’ rule of thumb
Keep your mind on what you’re doin’, and look where you’re goin’

Some parts of this narrative may be fiction. Sort of.

Memo to Self: Next time work out a rhyming scheme before you start writing the poem.

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