A fire hydrant scrimmaged
With the play calling
Of street poets, a rummage
Of junkyard afternoons,
The distracted Milky Way,
Ripe autumn apples,
A spring rain and its naked toes,
And a comet, cheeks blushed
Like sunlight in June,
Is enough for me.
Hedged by unknowns
I burn my lawnmower in celebration.
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naïve haircuts 
I love these notions:
“a rummage of junkyard afternoons”
“ripe autumn apples”
“a spring rain and its naked toes”
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Thank you, Sunra!
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oh Bob: this is wildly uninhibited; I love the cameo of the cheeks -blushed comet and that sneaky pun at the end 🙂
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Thanks John!! Yes, definitely wild. I’m glad you caught the pun at the end.
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it’s always a bonus if you can wrap things up with a well-timed pun, the sneakier the better 🙂
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I’m in! Sounds like one helluva game. On hilltops all along the border I see lawnmowers bursting into flame. The crowd going wild.
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Haha. I’m in the process of digging up my lawn and replacing the grass with local flowers. I’m almost done. Next year all my grass will be gone. I’d burn my lawnmower, but I have one of those push mowers. I don’t think it would burn to well.
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There’s the glorious chaos of life …let the lawns join in the return to wildness!
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I agree!!! I’m almost done replacing my lawn with local flowers. Loving the wildness. Thanks!
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Summer does seem to last too long. “Like sunlight in June is enough for me,” enough for me too Bob or maybe I missed the point here, but what better bonfire than burning the lawnmower. That’s what I call welcoming the new season with celebration. Snow flakes are good with the right coat.
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I missed summer when it was ending. But I’m ready for the snowflakes. And yes, the right coat makes all the difference. The first snowfall is always special. But I know I’ll be complaining come March about the cold. But for now I’m going to enjoy it. Thanks!
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Cycles: seasons, comet arrivals, your poem with a fire-fighting equipment at the start, then a fire being started at the end. Let the grass grow, and watch street poets play games. This is a wonderful poem, Bob.
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Thanks Dave! Yes, let the street poets play. And the flowers grow. And the seasons turn.
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