In the movie,
that’s not being made,
the one I star in,
my character, who looks
exactly like me,
is mowing the lawn,
exactly like me,
only when I go
to put the lawnmower
away by the barn,
she just keeps walking,
pushing that red Toro
down the side of the highway,
oblivious to the drivers
who stare and honk.
And there’s no orchestra
swelling, just a single
bassoon with a dark,
warm reedy timbre.
There she goes,
in her flip flops
and sun hat,
obviously not ready
for what’s about to happen
and not caring a whit,
leaving in her wake
a trail of freshly cut weeds,
and the scent of spring grass,
her figure getting
smaller and smaller
on the horizon.