blue t-shirt rivaling bare sky,
push your rumbling grass monster,
let the blades of tiny photosynthesized rebels
fall dismembered on the battlefield,
you’ll never see them cry.
For your sun-smacked yellow clippings collector
collating downed timbers of turf
the way panicky number crunchers,
captured by data’s seductive call to arms,
caused the financial Flash Crash
of 2008 in a rush of picoseconds
will suck those beheaded blades
out of your path with mindless ease.
Per-hour wage, pushing through the green,
sun above and earth below,
down with the revolting blades;
your cause is secure, for as one falls
another will grow.