I like my front yard more than my backyard
because there’s a big mess in the backyard.
Dead grass, dead trees, dead bushes,
a sea of weeds I wish was dead.
If only my backyard was a miniature Dead Sea,
with all the physical properties of the real Dead Sea,
which I hear is very low-maintenance,
then I would no longer suffer from an abundance
of high-maintenance things, at least in my backyard.
Then life would be a little less hard.
But really, I already no longer suffer from
an abundance of high-maintenance things
because the high-maintenance things are dead
because I never maintained them
because I was too busy crying
for reasons unrelated to landscaping
so my grass and trees and bushes started dying
and now I only suffer from guilt.
And lactose intolerance.
OK maybe not cholera,
but something’s definitely wrong with my small intestine,
and my large intestine isn’t feeling well either.
In fact, I think I have more intestines than everybody else,
more intestines that are all diseased.
Something should be done about those weeds.
They snarl like hungry cats.
I wonder how much thirty tons of salt would cost.
That should be enough to transform
my Living Sea of Weeds
into the New Dead Sea.
They could dump it all in there with a big truck.
My backyard could become an attraction.
My front yard is already an attraction.
Not that it gets a widespread enthusiastic reaction,
but, at least it attracts me.
I go out there and sit on the purple bench
and look at my little piece of ground.
Gravel, cactus, rugged vegetation.
And I like my front yard because
sometimes my neighbor Cliff walks over,
sometimes dragging a garden hose,
sometimes rolling a trash barrel to the street,
and we have a conversation
about traffic or weather variations
or the Home Owner’s Association
and I like Cliff.