My house sits on a rise of sand and dirt

covered by Zoysia sod,

lifting us two feet higher than the ground around.

(A meager moat against Mothers tendency towards

ten foot tidal surges during our hurricained Autumn.)

My gated community has inviolable rules for keeping us

on manicured lawns surrounded by well shaved shrubbery,

all cuttings and fallen cones and twigs

quickly tended to by MANUEL’S LAWN CARE AND MORE.

All dedicated to unnatural laws keeping us

unnaturally spruced and sharp.

My home,

however,

struggles to find purchase against such straight, clean cut lines,

revealing my untamed tendency toward

irregular, wood-lot borders and unkempt, wayward woodlands

intruding and protruding into this stilted, geometric world.

Frankly,

I would rather the wild mess after the winds,

the overgrowth and weeds rising from the soil,

Natures bid to take over from our rigid straight line attempts

at order over chaos.

If I had to chose between madness and stiff sanity,

the nut house wins hands down!

But,

to enjoy my time of retired peacefulness

against the too often encroaching, crazy world outside our gated walls,

not quite, but almost,

littered with shards of glass and barbed wire

atop the blustrard,

I accept, reluctantly, a house to abide in

here,

and only cherish in anticipation,

my mind-locked home,

for now.