West of Boston

It isn’t that I’m just a lazy bum.

I mean I am the way you measure, but

I think the things you measure might be wrong.

I’m looking at the weeds to see if they

are dry enough to cut so they will not

grow back and make me cut them all again

and isn’t that the prudent thing to do?

I’d say it’s down-right ecological.

I should be emulated. Save the Earth!

There isn’t any reason why the weeds

are not allowed to grow.  They’re part of God’s

amazing plan, and why should I destroy

the handiwork of God? Besides, the sun

is warm. There is a breeze. The hammock calls.

I think about another lazy man

whose neighbor’s thought that he’d be on the dole

before the year was out. His little farm,

if you could call it that, is somewhere north

of Boston. I have visited the farm.

It’s overgrown with seedlings and with weeds.

I wish my farm would grow so fine a crop.

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