The Two of You

Your presence at the edge of my lawn is both reassuring and odd.
I wish I could ask you so many questions and
have a reasonable expectation of a cogent response.

Why are you here — and why the two of you, together?
It's clear you're together-together, like a couple.
One of you watches while the other eats or rests.
Even when you both rest, one of you is always alert,
always watching out for the other's best interests.

Your attire gives nothing away, dressed in the same
comfortable uniform common to your kind.
I don't even know if you are male and female, and unrelated,
or siblings, cousins, or an old, long married couple
whose gender no longer matters because
the kids have long flown the coop, so to speak.
I don't even know if you're M/M or F/F,
though it really doesn't matter to me any more
than it appears to matter to you.

And why my lawn, this patch near the pond?
Naturally you do not prefer the treeline or the trees,
across the path away from the pond.
That's not your thing, and you're like-minded about
this preference.
Birds of a feather, as they say.

Will you be here long?
Should I plan on your company for the month,
for the rest of the spring and summer,
for the rest of the season?
Should I tell the neighbors so they avoid my lawn,
walk their noisy little yappy dogs far from here,
leave you in quiet, undisturbed?
The loss of their presence won’t hurt my feelings.
Not one bit.

Should I tell the lawncare people
you will be here for weeks, or months,
so they exercise more care with scheduling their work
around whatever schedule you two keep,
doing whatever it is you two do,
besides eat, sleep, and watch?

I wish I could ask you these things.
I wish I could know what it is I should do for you.
But communications between our people are stymied
until you two learn to use cellphones,
or until we learn to speak goose.

__________
Copyright 2015 by Femme Malheureuse
Graphic: Larry McGahey via Flickr