Poem of the Week

JOHN DEERE GOD

As my car drifts to a stop

on the asphalt drive,

God corners the lawn

perched on my John Deere mower.

I know it’s him,

the great “I am.”

The flowing beard, the snowy hair

flecked with green trimmings

frames his face radiating like the sun.

A silly grin upholds his moody eyes,

he twists the steering wheel again.

I try to resolve the scene.

God,

apparently trading his heavenly throne

for a yellow vinyl seat,

bounces down the yard,

his bellowing laughter

rises above the engine,

brings into bloom my scarlet rose bush.

He wears cut off jeans

and a Springsteen sleeveless shirt,

exposing his all powerful muscles.

He must be trying to get a tan

to bring out the white in his heavenly robes.

He eases back on the throttle as I make my way up the walk.

He tells me he feels so alive.

Doesn’t everyone need a break from the throne sometimes?

One can only take so much adoration,

answer so many prayers and petitions,

before he needs to get away.

At this point, any response to the Almighty

seems ill-worded.

What does one say to God,

lawn mower idling beneath him?

If he were in heaven,

I might know how to address him,

my three “Our Fathers” and crossing myself

somehow opening the portal between realities.

But he is here, now.

I offer him lemonade

for the day is hot

and God is sweating.

He shakes his head,

says he needs to get back to mowing.

He throws the throttle forward,

tires spin on the damp grass.

He speeds off down the lawn,

clippings flying, laughing.