i’m ok lawnmowing dandelions probably delicious

.            with dozing bumblebees and becoming
.                        ok with blistering under a low sun i can’t see
for no reason
.                                         other than the grass is too long
and should be carpet height
easy for walking on and having
and for looking at how i have it with a drink
after work even though i should have flowers
with a drink after work

it should be carpet height
snoring bees pollinate for nothing in their sleep
.                                        as i cut them down
going along with the motor every few weeks
even though i like watching them work
.                                          unafraid of the morning
under the lunatic sun
dandelions every few days
because they’re too long                 yellow
blows gray in the afternoons with a drink

i’m feeding off what i don’t hear in the lawnmower
.                                                    noise and bees falling
asleep with the dandelions as i cut them
to the right height
ok for a few hours in straight lines moving
in concentric oblongs across the lawn
every few minutes even as
it grows back behind me becoming too long
again even though i like watching the tangle
i’m so constantly ok with cutting
.                                        i can hardly breathe
it’s so much easier
when it’s the right height almost
always almost getting there even though i miss
seeing the bees sway in the dandelions
.                            in the sun every few seconds
my skin dissolves into grass blade
itches of loosening urgency
.            of it already coming back even before i walk
over it cutting it in the same place
with my feet about to

*

prodigal son

on the way home from school my mom dropped me
at morton’s to retrieve dad from the bar
as if he were a clean suit she had
dry cleaned again out of habit

she left me directions home and a picture
of what he should look like
if she said goodbye
i’d already forgotten in the leaves
of the gutter
the doorman put toothpicks into my hand
.               dispensed sayings from his mouth
.               and shattered the door for me with a small hammer
to entreat me to stay longer                           my brother was crashing
his car a little over and over five states away as a joke

the sidewalk was the entrance and crunched
open                     into my father leaning
against the lost and found box
claiming most of the coats
with similar stories
.                           i was reciting them
when the sign behind the bar turned
a shade of red which stopped me
so the corner loudspeaker could talk
.             the wet crackle out of its voice
i kept signing his napkin wet
with ink i’d have to explain later
until my name became just another word
it wasn’t him
soaked from the head up
but the bartender kept taking pictures of us
staring out of our faces
which made us keep drinking until

worrying about anyone else
made as much sense as everything at once

*

Eli Sahm received his MFA from the University of North Carolina Wilmington. He was a finalist for the 2016 NC State Annual Poetry Contest and his work has appeared in Your Impossible Voice.