Side by side the squares of grass grow smaller,
each revealing another hidden golden rectangle,
a homemade rendering of the Fibonacci sequence,
the length of some sides approaching the golden ratio,
as lap after lap he trudges behind the blasting
of the machine that vibrates in one hand
while the other cradles a jelly glass of bourbon.
Occasionally he sets the glass down on the square
to swat at a bee storm of the hand's own making
that only he can see and hear.
He imagines following the sequence
as far as the limits of his lawn will allow
the squaring of his spiraling thoughts,
and so, adjusts the blade to start again
with a larger square out where the sunflowers
have tumbled over the rundown cedar fence.
As the moon begins to rise, three children remain
watching in practiced silence from a window,
waiting for someone to notify them finally
that math class is adjourned.
Tim Hawkins has lived and traveled widely throughout North America, Southeast Asia and Latin America, where he has worked as a journalist, technical writer, and teacher in international schools. He currently lives in his hometown of Grand Rapids, Michigan. His poems have appeared in a variety of print and online publications, most recently in BluePrintReview, Lucid Rhythms, The Flea, 13 Miles from Cleveland and Underground Voices, and are forthcoming in Shot Glass Journal and The Midwest Quarterly.
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