FRYday

 I come home after a ten hour work day,

change and head to the Pond.

The air is refreshingly clear and

a cool wind blows chimes to tease me to sing.

I’m not relaxing for fifteen minutes

when the symphony of mowers begins.

The retiree J across the street hauls out

his “silent” mower and is soon joined by his neighbour C

who inherited his riding mower that is heard

for three blocks away. He grins knowing the previous

owner ran it for two hours EVERY FRYDAY afternoon.

Next up is my own neighbour. We’ve chatted

explaining my preference to silence after a work week,

but in one ear and out the other. At least she is quick,

not retired and doesn’t dilly dally.

There is a pause and silence descends.

O what a fool am I when the chainsaw begins.

Not one block away and an idiot who

just has to give it a one more go.

I seek the sanctuary of my chesterfield.

Three hours later and the hood is silent.

Not an engine or tinker toy is revving.

There is peace and o such quietness

and I’m relaxing in silence, well almost

as squirrels have descended into the bird feeder

the squabbling has begun and I ~ sigh ~.

Wait! Tis now 8 pm and yet ANOTHER retiree

decides he needs to join his neighbours in creating

another perfect lawn for the weekend

just in case there are visitors.

I ~ sigh ~ and wonder why on a FRYday.