The neighbor's daughter

by Roberto C. Garcia

watches me mow my lawn

from her porch

three houses away,

& her mother

next to her

could be



Noon sun, like a restless master

on my back,

sweat doing more

than gleaming,

it's feral, my skin darkening.


Steadfast daughter, staring

hard at the evolution— 

brown flesh turning blacker,

she won't look away.


I stop to wipe my head,

peek over,

her mother gets up,

a face—like reproach,


puts a hand

on the daughter's shoulder,

both of them watch me

grasp the handle bar,

pull the cord

& finish off

my lawn.