It's Saturday, the birds are up, the coffee's almost done And somewhere in the distance — no, right next door — someone Is firing up the Toro like the lawn declared a war At six AM, the only sound should be a gentle snore He's at it again, I can hear it through the glass Our neighbor and his mower and his optimistic grass I timed it — forty minutes for a quarter-acre lot He's not mowing, he's performing, and this yard's his only slot Should we say something? (We should definitely say something) Should we go out there? (Absolutely not — we're in our robes) Mowing at dawn, mowing at dawn He's cutting the grass before the dew is gone The neighborhood's asleep but his lawn must carry on He's mowing at dawn And it's perfect — every blade identical and drawn To attention like soldiers on a freshly barbered lawn Mowing at dawn And we hate it, and we respect it, and we yawn I left a note once — "kindly wait till eight?" He wrote back "seven-thirty" as a compromise date Then mowed at six-fifteen the very next Saturday I think the note made it worse, in a neighborly way I've tried white noise machines, I've tried earplugs, I've tried prayer I've tried leaving town on Saturdays but he knows when we're there The mower has a sixth sense — it can feel us sleeping in And it revs a little louder as if sleeping were a sin We could buy him a quieter mower (For Christmas?) We could buy him a later alarm (For his birthday?) We could just move (To where? He'll follow. They always follow.) Mowing at dawn, mowing at dawn He's out in the sunrise with his visor on His lawn looks like a golf course, ours looks like Saigon He's mowing at dawn And the worst part — the absolute worst — he's not wrong His grass IS really greener, our edges ARE too long He's mowing at dawn And he'll outline our failures until we're gone (Do you think he's happy?) I think his lawn is happy (Do you think he knows we can hear?) I think he knows and he doesn't care (What if this is his only joy?) Then who are we to take it away? (We're the people who want to sleep past six on a Saturday) Fair point Mowing at dawn, mowing at dawn We've given up the fight, the battle's won He mows, we wake, the summer carries on He's mowing at dawn And when he waves at us with that Saturday smile We wave back, half-asleep, from across the tile He's mowing at dawn And honestly — honestly — the lawn looks beautiful Six AM, the mower hums Two cups of coffee, here it comes Another Saturday — same old song Mowing at dawn (Mowing at dawn) The quietest war on the quietest lawn
