Backyard

I used to hate that backyard, 

cutting the grass sideways 

on that steep slope, stretching 

my sneakers on the right side 

of the instep, staining the soles, 

sweat creeping inside the shoe. 

Coming off that hill led to 

my father's garden, rows of 

greens and beans and tomatoes 

growing alongside the fallen walnuts 

randomly scattered about. 

Then on the other side 

of the chain link fence 

were shrubs and weeds that 

looked like a mini jungle. 

I remember seeing snakes 

crawling in the brush 

and I rushed through this part, 

pushing my lawn mower  

as hard and fast as I could. 

After all those adventures 

I shut my mower off and stood 

covered in sweat, grass, and 

the occasional mosquito bite, 

seeing my hard work resulting in 

a level cut of nature and 

my father standing at  

the top of the hill, 

nodding his approval.