mowing over dandelions

is not quite the same

as the childlike wonder

of blowing away seeds and fluff,

the wind catching and floating off

tiny parachutes full

of imagination and dreams,

the world an endless possibility

of happy endings.


but there is something

strangely satisfying

in driving the motor over their bowed

and weed killer-sprayed heads,

the blade spinning impassively

and the wheels flattening their discarded stems,

while small puffs of seedlings escape

from under the sides of the mower

like dying breaths.


the small joys of adulthood.

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