Greener Grass

A blue formica table,
Scratched by jet streams.
Linear reminders that tomorrow
Life resumes.
Back to billowing grey clouds
That portend rain,
Or a nondescript muffler
That merges into dank concrete.
I am forced to remind myself
Of the soft greenness of my homeland,
Not stark and rugged with ochre dryness,
But snug like my mother’s cardigan.
A beauty unappreciated.