Around the yard bouncing on the seat,
absorbed in cutting the grass nice and neat.
Drive way crumbling, rocks coming back to life,
each time I pass over, the blades grind like a knife.
As I cross the porch a strange hole I see,
the size of a quarter what could it be.
Going inside I examined again, the window, the hole,
moving the curtain, laying there next to my sole.
A single gray round stone.
My wife had cleaned up the glass from the rock thrown.
Not one, but two holes, one large, one small,
to be able to see through the holes, you need to be tall.
At first I thought someone had fired a shot, no the rock!
Had I done this? I could have hit someone! What a shock!
A moment to think, then a horrible thought occurred to me,
what a dangerous thing a lawnmower can be.
A storm window, plus a pane would not stop the rock,
only the curtain, for a rock that traveled a block.
Now clear tape, to keep the bugs out, covers the hole,
placed there by mom, till I find time for quality control.