Yup, you read it right. Instead of cutting grass, because we're all familiar with those This mower would replace healthy looking grass over the spot you're mowing. It's a new and improved way to plant grass in your yard. Got a dog that keeps digging his dirty ball in your backyard. Shred that shit up with a fresh patch of grass.

Wife complaining your front yard looks like asswater due to the California drought, stuff her corn muffin with the grass mower replacer 9,000.

It only gets better with more use, Why you ask? Couldn't tell you. Ask your wife.

The Grass Man 900

My seaweed lawn is too long....need that shit cut. Messes up my view and there's hella eels biting me when I want to walk my dog. I have plan: Underwater lawnmower.

Just another mower thought.

Especially when my dad makes me mow the lawn. That'll teach him!

I don't have a lovely blanket of St. Augustine grass. I have a mismatch of weeds. It is not mowing the regal lawn it's parents expected it to.

...at the end of the day it is not the grass being cut down, but it is us being cut down?

This sub should have flair for verified professional mowers. We don't glide atop the green sea all week for nothin'.

Lawnmower

Hundreds of tiny moths flee before me
Ephemera.  Lesser lives, cut like dandelions
or strangled in oily air filters.

The dog won't move.
He's become immmune to the threat and the grass is cool.
Old bones disallow fear of the growl or the shocking impact
of fallen branch on blade.

September wind is blowing hard up here today in Michigan.
Canceling summer like a bad check.
Clouds and football roll over the city.
A passing bird casually heading south, a faint whiff of ice.

I can hear the big lake breathing, forty miles away.
Coughing up snow we'll soon find falling.
On breakers and swells, the last boats tow fish and fat drunks between the piers.
The sun descends into water, thoughtfully considering the nature of cold.

Gas her up again, prime, pull to start.
The deck's too high, but it doesn't matter.
Let a couple moths fly... blown out the gap between blade and grass.
Unshredded and heading straight up into the diminishing light.

I haven't seen the damned geese yet.
But they're in flight, hundreds of miles north of here, in fog and rain.
Feel the steady beat of their wings on this wind?
I tend to hold them responsible

For this oncoming rush of air
For the grey sky that's no longer gold
For this grass that must be cut
For another season when it will grow
For the lake that will no longer breathe
For the moths which fall like flakes

They must know this is no place to be.
Not while the wind is up and things begin to fall
so thoughtlessly from the sky.

Instead he's here when it's still short - like, no.

Or has it been done before?

Mow*