Solitude In Suburbia

With quiet pen ready for inspiration to appear
I sat, when a disconcerting noise filled my ear.

At my favoured window looking through the glass
I saw two men with machines cutting grass.

Forward and round as if riding an unruly horse
wearing silent earmuffs, charting their course.

Before my green eyes they undid nature’s growing
with insatiable multi blades malisciously gnawing.

Not only my profound concentration did they take
unwalkable paths in patterns lie in their wake.

While a hundred years ago, though probably less,
two clodhoppers would never leave such a mess.

But this is modern science working at its best
yet, inside its robotic clutches I am compressed.

The hungry blades find the last defenceless patch
then rumble off, hidden to slay more earth’s thatch.

Leaving my innocent empty white page glaring
up at me, my angry pen is ready, more caring!

sonofadam