She is Far from Happy with the Land

Cables entangling her.
Lawnmower for mangling her.
Clothesline is strangling her.
Branch over-dangling her.
Dandelions and daisies
are driving her crazy,
and a mystery who
would plant effing bamboo.
Starlings to harry her.
Forecast to hurry her.
For cat, rats, and bats
thank the neighbouring cats.
Laundry bag tattered;
Her underwear scattered.
Conifer too itchy.
Neighbour too bitchy.
The boys in the water,
doing nothing they oughta.
Daughter with unicorn
sticking them with the horn.
Out of the pond with them;
really _quite_ fond of them.
Lichen marring frippery;
the deck very slippery;
Husband quite flustered;
lunch is fish fingers and custard.

Rake has been hidden,
then rises unbidden,
and the line of the strimmer
compels her to simmer.
Trimmer not long enough;
Ladder not strong enough.
Hornets and ants’ nests.
All kinds of other pests.
Boots, gloves, and hat;
the brambles need that.
Nettle rash and sun stroke;
the gloves and the hat broke!
Handle came off of trowel.
Can’t seem to find her towel.
She can’t even walk;
tool put through boot. Fork!
Her temper’s too porous
after nocturnal frog chorus.
Weedkiller, bug-killer;
asthma’s a crippler.
Swearing and hissing;
inhaler’s gone missing.

Charity muggers,
and friends who are huggers.
All the distractions
that keep her from actions
Postmen, and salesmen,
and Algerine random men!
And not to belabour
but “I don’t bloody need neighbours!”.
Green bins give hernia.
Solution is burnier.
Red eyes do stare enough.
Eyebrows not there enough.
Blue lights and red lights;
firemen a welcome sight.
Looking forlorn;
expression quite drawn
for grass is adorned
with bugs of what manner born?
Neighbours with scorn
for clothes further torn.
Confiscate pruning knife
from demon spawns.
Too much to be borne;
been working since dawn.

Husband hands her the Piriteze
and advises her “Take these.
It’s dangerous to grow a lawn!”

Based (v. loosely) on Thomas Hood’s “She is Far from the Land

One rumination on “She is Far from Happy with the Land

Surprised, but glad, that I got this all done today.

It's definitely a bank holiday poem.

Ruminate

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