Mowing On Mondays Poem by Lois Read

Some days I feel like
slathering the scent of fresh-cut grass
behind my ears, adding
perhaps just a touch
each side of my throat
tossing an Isadora Duncan scarf
across my shoulders
striding out on platform shoes
skyscraper all
with a smile five lanes wide.

Some days I feel like that,
usually Mondays, just after
the Grounds Crew has swarmed
over the campus, leaving
aromas sweet and slightly wild.

So know that though
I seem the same Conservative Self
walking about in sandals
and old blue jeans
on Mondays at least
enchantment reigns
luring, tantalizing, teasing
promising exotic adventures.
Such is the scent
of fresh-cut grass