Menace
Mary Winters
Hard-staring divorce, then retirement
-- “golden handshake” age sixty --
Northern man got Florida spread in
shadow-free close-clipped
beach community dealt out
around country club; his lazy
two-acre back yard’s sudden stop a
brown-water canal -- grass comes
on a truck; held down with
sprinkler system which
rises on schedule to force a few
rainbows -- ravish a grandchild --
trees hauled in too, full-grown.
Special cement keeps patio cool;
trained cypress shades visiting
daughter who watches a battle over
the tip of a book -- man versus
pampas grass clump: every morning a
showdown with machete and hoe;
red ants at its base who scramble
and run, birds keen overhead;
daily patrol for tiny-size snakes
scouting cool garage floor -- they
meet with a shovel; back door, three
locks against gators.
