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
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.