Well, It's A Job Anyway

Hello again, my old friend and foe.
When the lawn is mowed I recall.
The Christmas lights are up; I recall.
She said, Oh the night is beautiful.
Oh just think I am sending you out into it.
Today is wet and rushing and still it’s more beautiful than that night.
It was a frozen night.
Why would the lawn need mowing in winter?
In a rainstorm?
The clippings are washed right down the storm drains.
The curtains are pulled shut.
I motor past them twenty-seven times, before emptying the bag and continuing.
Twenty-seven Christmases ago she said goodbye.