R-r-r-roar! and the lawnmower rips to life, blut-blutting out any chance of getting some more Melville read outside this morning.  Soon enough only some bare vestiges of reddish-tinged radicchio-like leaves.  No trace of cheerful yellow remains.  On the air wafts the poisonus smell of Kill-ex, Weed-ex, Slaughter-ex, enlisted biological warfare joins the ranks of the gas-powered push tanks and the bazookas with fish line whips.

I hear the mewing of the dandelion heads inside the canvas bags.  I hear it in my sleep.  Each fall, relief comes by the way of an innocent blanket.  Until then those carcasses haunt me.