The sun saturates—maturates my family's backyard
like clomiphene for chlorophyll.
Swords emerge from my sward, harboring mosquitoes,
the edges need to be filed down.
Father would edge the lawn, trimming its sides
to make a perfect geometric shape.
The wind would push the grass down,
like God patting the top of the field's head.
I would cut that grass—each blade sent through my blades
dispersing into a green mist.
Clippings are thrown into bat cave black garbage bags
tied tight to avoid leakage.
But when I go inside, I notice that green powder
has collected on my shoes.

I never bite my nails,
the taste is just not for me.
I see others chew on pinkies
and much to my disgust
        they chop on them between
                                      their teeth.

Do you know where they
                          have been,
do you know you didn't
                  wash your hands
Now your biting the tips.

I noticed that those who chew,
have stubby fingers
                           looking grossly.
Use a pair of scissors manicure
                                appropriately.

Please don't bite your nails,
              then spit them out near me.
Its not the wild west there isn't
       spit buckets to collect rejected
                                      nail clippings.

Paint them,
                trim them,
manicure them properly.
but please don't chew them,  
its unhygienic and is so unsanitary.