The Aesthetic Crusade
Mother and I stole
Out to the garden last night.
Quick shadows in home’s gold light,
Streaked with coal,
We bowled across the oily lawn.
To the base of the landscape, torn.
The stars our living room lights on the way,
Our hands holding cutters glowed gray.
The fence stood tall as GM corn,
Approach unfazed, it stood our ground.
We bent and began, without a sound,
Soon with the pillars unsteady, and the grill almost gone,
Mother and I kicked the fence all along.
The view appeared, softly, the fence hit the ground
Shh, a secret, Winks moon to mother to I.
