All they care about is the lawn and the hedge;
the sight of a weed, a dandelion,
and all hell breaks loose
until it is removed, destroyed.
Three times a year
the evergreen hedge is trimmed,
a martial operation of precision and angst –
I can almost predict the day.
But who am I to judge,
peering through net curtains
at life’s absurdities
and the pointlessness of it all?
copyright Francis Barker 2019