In this town where the limited water
supply confines the residential sprawl,
grass is an extravagance and a waste.
Sprinklers run on timers in some yards,
but the soft spray sound is uncommon.
We pull or trim weeds and tall grasses
as soon as the rains end for the year,
because they'll lose their green hue
for a rattling golden-brown tinge,
and the grasses hide snakes, rats,
spiders, and other deadly creatures.
After the fair, I ask him if he enjoyed it--
the large roaring rides, the food stands,
the small art collection, the people--
and he says, "I liked sitting in the grass."
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