They were cutting the grass because it was dry and then the rain came. It came down hard. Water rolling down the window. Told them it would, of course I did, but who listens to an old man?
The job is half done, and there are grass-clippings like green slugs on the driveway. Squidgy and messy and ugly. Well, thanks very much for nothing. I don’t know who they are, or who they think they think they are, but I do know it’s wrong to leave the job half done. The hair dresser does my whole head and then sweeps the floor – it’s hardly difficult, is it?
Whose lawn is it anyway? It looks like mine, very similar. I should go out and see, or I would if it wasn’t coming down hard. The BBC was right this time.
Well, I’ll be blown! There, in the driveway by the lawn, a mower. That mower looks like mine, very similar. Peeling red paint, big, full of engine. They don’t make them like that anymore.
That mower is mine.
They left it in the rain that’s coming down hard, left it on the driveway, left it by the job half done. I keep it under lock and key, how can they have released it? Who are they anyway? Say a word, you cowards!
Silence.
I shake my head. That lawn is mine. Water slides down my nose, sweater soggy right through. Told them it would, but who listens to an old man?
About the author
Retallick is from Anglesey, North Wales. She was home educated and then studied with the Open University, graduating with a first-class BA (Honours) Arts and Humanities (Creative Writing and Music) degree, before passing her creative writing MA with distinction. Her work has been placed and shortlisted in several international competitions. https://www.hannahretallick.co.uk/about
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