Poems by Duane Anderson

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Pic by Steve Johnson

 

 

Psychiatry Yard Care

I wasn’t sure why he was out mowing,
for the grass was completely burned out
from the lack of rain and watering,

each blade of grass parched,
searching for an oasis
but finding a mirage.

The only water in his yard was
contained in a swimming pool,
water, not to be shared with others,

and his reason for mowing, appearances only,
his attempt in making the other neighbors
think he was taking care of his yard,

only most could tell the difference between
brown and green, but he may have been color blind,
so I will give him the benefit of the doubt.


 

The African Safari Next-Door

When I brought the dogs in because they
were making too much noise outside,
I couldn’t help but notice that our neighbor
was out mowing the grass in her back yard.
It was truly a miracle, something she had started
last week but didn’t get very far, and the time
before that, I do not remember. It may have
been this year, but I couldn’t be sure.

Earlier in the week I thought I heard elephants
and giraffes grazing in their yard and went outside,
but could not see them because the grass was
too high. Now it is less than a week before
the Fourth of July, but I wasn’t out on the
deck to watch them going off, but watching my
neighbor mowing her yard is a rare sight.
Almost as rare as seeing humpback whales
swimming in the Missouri River passing through
Omaha on their way north for spawning.
It is something you don’t want to miss out on.

It had a definite entertainment value, like when
I lived at home with my parents, and the neighbors
living across the street. Now, there was entertainment.
They hated each other, and one could tell that was the
case by the arguments heard, and there was no
problem hearing them from our side of the street.
We would bring out lawn chairs and sip on Pepsis
and beers, and our next next-door neighbor would
come and join us. We would have a grand ol’ time,
listening to the best entertainment in town.

Well, this sight is just as enjoyable, excluding the jungle,
though it didn’t happen as often as the fights across the
street of old, even though it too finally came to an end
after they divorced each other, something we always knew
would come at some point. Then my neighbor stopped
her mowing and put her lawn mower and electric cord
away without finishing, leaving it for another time,
sometime in the future, maybe sometime in my lifetime.

She is looking at her yard. Yes, parts looked a little better,
but it needs going over again, and I am looking for miracles,
but miracles will not come from there. I must be dreaming.
Yes, this is just a dream, and this could not have happened?


 

Squirrel Sightings

All day it rained,
and a squirrel now prayed
before its meal in the downpour,
sitting before it, a soggy breakfast,
a bowl filled with peanuts.

After finishing its morning nourishment,
I saw it one last time,
climbing up the wood planks of Noah’s arc
as it sailed through the neighborhood,
waving goodbye as it passed by.


 

My Neighbor, the Farmer

My neighbor,
each week drives
his John Deere tractor
around his acreage.
He has maybe a total of five thousand
square feet of grass in his yard.
He acts as if he is harvesting
corn, wheat, or milo
from his farm,
except there are a few
things missing from this weekly scene.

There is no mud on his boots,
or manure.
In fact,
here are no boots
but white tennis shoes,
not even Air J I Case shoes,
and where is the baseball cap
that has Pioneer Seed
or DeKalb Seed on the front.

No,
there is a lot missing,
but each to his own form
of exercise and entertainment.


To read more poems by the same author, click here

About the Author

Duane Anderson currently lives in La Vista, NE.  He has had poems published in Fine Lines, Cholla Needles, Tipton Poetry Journal, and several other publications. He is the author of ‘On the Corner of Walk and Don’t Walk,’ ‘The Blood Drives: One Pint Down,’ and ‘Conquer the Mountains,’ and ‘Family Portraits.’