I wrote this poem in June 2025 for a nature anthology my wife was putting together for her father. The inspiration came from a real incident where I mowed down what I thought were weeds—turns out it was Michelle’s carefully cultivated native prairie garden. She was not happy. I explained the travesty to ChatGPT and it helped me write this poem. I’m still not allowed near the mower when her prairie plants are involved.

 

The Mower of Misfortune

By Jeff Haynes

(A poem from his wife’s perspective)

 

My husband’s a gem, a real Texas delight—

He kisses the dog and he never starts fights.

He grills like a pro, folds towels just right,

And once caught a snake with a stick and some Sprite.

 

He fixes the truck with a confident flair,

And always pretends not to notice my hair.

He’s sweet as peach cobbler, calm as the breeze—

Until he declared, “I’mma mow them there weeds!”

 

I pointed out exactly which patch to attack,

Then left him alone with the mower out back.

But when I returned, Lord have mercy and grace—

He’d shaved the whole prairie like it was his face.

 

“The weeds are all gone!” he said with a grin,

Unaware of the horticultural sin.

“My milkweed! My asters! My bee-friendly clover!”

He’s perfect…but now he’s not allowed to mow over.

 

 

A little about

Jeff Haynes:

I like to mow the grass. Being outside on the zero turn mower is my thinking time.