The Nazi Lawn Guard
I rarely leave
To venture wide-eyed
Into the white sun world
Full of angry people
Who don't know me
In my cell in my home
Surrounded by her prison yard
Upon my door a warning
From the commandant
To reduce the length
Of grass to five inches
Six feet from my prison
Walls that keep them
From me and me from them
Two days is all I have
To cut my growing lawn
Or a fine a punishment
For the poor man in cell rags
Will be whipped from my bank
Stinging my backside
My wallet hole
She is the Lawn Nazi
Who will not call
With friendly voice and smile
No her guard like scream
Taped to my door
Through which I never leave
How was I to know
My confreres have seen
Her post her pistol blue tape
Sticky grease the glass9
On my door sensing punishment
Trim and slash my tiny yard
Freeing their prison mate
From the fine of penniless death
Barry G. Wick
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