June 1: Refrigerator Light," Thirsty Bee, "Mowing the Lawn"

Billy Collins sees what's in the fridge . . .

Refrigerator Light

by: Billy Collins

The minute

she slams the door

I stop

thinking about her.

Two of the challenges of writing incredibly short poems is 1) picking a subject, and 2) making that subject surprising and new.

Most of the time, Collins chooses subjects that are beyond everyday.  They're almost invisible, like the light in the refrigerator.  When you open the door, you just expect the inside to be illuminated so you can see the leftovers and eggs and milk and bread and condiments.  You don't spend any time pondering the miracle of that illumination.  It just is.

Today, I did an everyday thing:  I mowed my lawn.  I've been putting it off for a couple weeks, letting my backyard become a landscape of dandelions and grasses and clover, reveling in the appearance of each thirsty bee and hungry rabbit.

However, social conventions dictate that lawns must be manicured and controlled, lest neighbors think you po' white trash and invoke lawn ordinances.  So, I fired up my lawnmower at 9 a.m. and got to work.  (Sorry neighbors who were trying to sleep, but you brought it on yourselves.)

Two hours later, under a sky burgeoning with rain, I was done.  And a little whipped.  I put away my lawnmower, closed my garage door, and walked around my house, surveying my handiwork.

Get out your rulers, neighbors.  Saint Marty's grass is now regulation height.

Mowing the Lawn

by: Martin Achatz

I love the trillium, violets,

lilacs, even dandelions

in my yard, yet I gave

my lawn a crewcut 

this morning because

I don't want my neighbors

to report me to the police

for being a poet drunk

on 200 proof spring.