Rusty Dawson
1st Place - Kilmer Award
My father mowed the grass in the dark.
"It’s cooler then," he would always say.
"I have to do this when I can,
and after work I must unwind."
And so near dusk he’d push the mower
while inside we would tense our ears
against some mangled sound,
which never came in all those years.
It brought more gray to Mother’s hair
than otherwise she might have borne,
and made us kids more serious
because we faced our dad’s demise.
It made me fear the dying light
and robbed the sunset’s golden peace,
but he kept mowing every week,
and no one offered to interfere.
Then one day he came inside
and said "I can’t make that old thing start."
And, "My shoulder’s sore, it’s going to rain.
Anyway, It’s dark outside."
The next week he said, "High pollen count."
Then--Jackie Gleason was on T.V.
And when the grass had grown knee-high
my father learned to admire weeds.
We couldn’t see why he would leave the lawn
to follow a wild nature’s course.
But neighbors talked about the mess,
While some were wondering if we had moved.
Then came the day, as the eldest son
I pushed the mower through the tangled mass,
and worked past dusk to clean it up:
restoring our place in the neighborhood trust.
That job, which I’ve done ever since
isn’t the burden I thought it would be.
For when the light gets right on a late evening lawn
a man can learn to unwind from the world.