Pinecones in the Green, Green Grass
Pinecones in the Green, Green Grass
by Amy Poland
On Thursdays I mow my
parent’s lawn.
My mother warns me
not to hit pinecones
with the mower.
I like the sound they make.
“Flut!”
They bark,
a sharpish sound,
like some broken bird cast low,
about to ascend to freedom,
and then rendered to shrapnel.
My mother thinks I’ll go blind
from pinecone shrapnel.
I take my pleasures
where I can get them.
FLUT!
Amy Poland