First he came for Mary.
Then he came for Jean.
Now, he comes for Carol.
After the angels come for the husbands of Locust Drive,
And before they come for their widows,
the Lawn Man cometh.
A weed whacker his scythe,
A hoodie his cloak.
A nod and a slight smile when I pass by,
even my friendly Labs cut a wide path,
his presence more unnerving than the skeletons and tombstones
poking playfully from the ground.
I step up my pace, a slight jog even
Oh, who am I fooling,
Lawn Man visits all of us,
sooner or later.