You have to make it round.
No one wants to look at something
that looks like a green box
growing from the ground.
Steady the hedge trimmer and take
swooping strokes over the top.
Move to the bottom and take out
the branches that poke at your
waist, the strays winding
through the fence into your neighbor's
yard, but make sure that the pieces
don't land on his side when he's been
in his yard raking the leaves that
have taken residence in the corners
of his property since October.
Wear gloves. Something will always
prick you, puncture your brittle
Spring skin. The ache in your arm
from the clipper's insistent vibration
will go away in a day. Just remember
that you're not twenty anymore.
Don't push it. No one wants to be
found face down in their backyard
by passing children, by nosy drivers.
It's just a shitty way to die.