She used to look at the fresh cut grass in summer
Inhale
Drop to her knees
And sob.

Weeping
For the seemingly inconsequential maintenance
The neat border of the fields
The now headless dandelions and daisies.

She said the sharp tang didn't bring to mind freshness
But horror
Blood
Death.

You had killed the blades of grass
Their tops trimmed for no reason
Other than conformity
Indistinguishable from one another.

She was afraid
Of when grass would stop sufficing
They'll move on to us next, she said.
Chop off our heads to make us blend in.

They've started already
What is one ****** stump of a neck to another?
We're getting out of hand
They don't like it.

She never said who "they" were
I don't suppose she knew herself
But she fought them single-handedly
Fangs bared, eyes dry.

They never got her in the end
She was too quick for them,
Too clever.
She got herself first.