.

Of Windows and Lawns

“I grew up in a neighborhood of folks
who were very proud of their lawn.” —Kamala Harris

There was a theory that a single broken
Window wasn’t a big deal. But
Too many broken windows were a token
Urban streets had fallen in a rut;

A social indicator that both crime
And other social misbehaviors were
Increasing and, unless repaired, in time
The neighborhood would crumble, certain-sure.

Suburban neighborhoods? A different scene.
Instead of windows, lawns were what would tell
If streets were safe. When lawns were mown and green
Then kids could play outside, and all was well.

It’s fathers who fix windows, mow the lawn.
Things quickly go downhill when they are gone.

.

.

James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He has written and published six novels, one collection of short stories, and four collections of poetry including Sidekicks, Mostly Sonnets, and Laughing Matters, all with Dunecrest Press. His poems have been published nationally and internationally in both print and online media. He was honored with being chosen as the winner of the 2021 SCP International Poetry Competition.

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13 Responses

  1. Cynthia Erlandson

    What a great conclusion — pretty much a surprise ending, but a good one. It logically follows that having lawns mowed is a good sign that neighborhood children are cared for by the man who would naturally care most for them. Thus, a safer neighborhood.

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      Not just mown, Cynthia, but green. I grew up among Malvina Reynold’s “little boxes” in Daly City, adjacent to San Francisco. No sprinkler systems back in those days. You watered by hand and by moveable sprinklers to keep the grass green. The mowing came after that. Hard-working men would water in the evening after getting home from work and do the mowing on Saturday or Sunday—before or after many families went to church or synagogue. The houses may have looked much the same but the people who lived in them were a diverse bunch. Mormons (our City Librarian—my boss during six years of college—was a Mormon Bishop), Jews (both Orthodox and Reformed—I was invited to bar mitzvahs, my best friend was the grandson of a Talmudic scholar, and my father’s Presbyterian church nested Rabbi Solomon Shore’s congregation for a year while they rebuilt after an electrical fire), Italian Catholics (our mayor’s parents had been immigrants from Naples and John Madden attended one of our two Italian RC private schools), our neighbors included immigrants from Russia (whose parents fled the revolution through Harbin, China), Iranians, a growing Filipino population that soon grew to be the largest gathered community of Filipinos outside the Philippines), several refugee immigrant families from the Netherlands, and my first girlfriend, who was a Mexican immigrant and a high school cheerleader born in Piedras Negras). My friends went on to become lawyers, elementary school teachers, high school principals, ministers, journalists, nurses, supermarket union employees, and, in the case of our homecoming king and star quarterback, a used car salesman. All were from two-parent homes whose fathers (and mothers, along with themselves as they grew older) watered and mowed their lawns and shared common values committed to being and becoming part of an ordered, civil society. I can’t say that any of us were proud of our lawns, but few of our families had enough money to pay for a lawn service (although neighborhood teenagers might be paid to do it). My side of town was overwhelmingly non-Black while the other side of town (where Madden went to school) had a large African-American population (and there was some tension between the two rival high schools over this difference). We were proud to be Americans (although the emerging war in Vietnam led many of us to question our nation’s political and military leadership). But in spite of our diversity, I always felt I was also part of a larger unity. Even when I spent two high school summers volunteering in elementary school-age “day camp” programs in San Francisco’s Chinatown and Outer Mission District (which included a large Black project community). In short, I am a product of what could be called a diverse, stereotypical, rising middle class community. I spent ten summers as a painter. From this, and from helping my father and older brother mow our lawn, I learned what hard, physical labor entails. And I experienced what America can look like when people share a common vision where we transcend our diversity simply by being neighbors and friends together as part of “one nation” with green lawns and a cultivated impulse to fix windows when they break.

      Reply
  2. Adam Sedia

    Bam! You slam us with a zinger in the final couplet — a great reminder that policies have consequences. I also like that you put Harris’s statement in an epigraph rather than the poem itself. You keep the text free from pollution as it were, and do not confine your message to single person and time. Well done!

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      Thanks, Adam. Smaller, rural areas seem to keep their lawns green and their windows fixed better than urban settings. I’m not saying that racism, antisemitism and the like don’t exist in such places. But people, as a whole, are more interested in what Rodney King once famously described as “just get(ting) along” with each other.

      Reply
    • D. R. Rainbolt

      Well done, sir! I love the twist at the end. This coupled with the Harris quote remind us how blind politicians can be to their own inconsistencies. Thank you for sharing.

      Reply
  3. Warren Bonham

    Very well done! I hope we’re beginning to rediscover the fact that while “fish don’t need bicycles”, children do and having a mother and father is the best way to make that happen.

    Reply
  4. James A. Tweedie

    Warren, yes, indeed. But even struggling single-parent households can contribute to a strong sense of community even with neglected lawns when they find support and acceptance from those neighbors whose lawns are green.

    Reply
  5. Roy Eugene Peterson

    The importance of having two parents is paramount to me in your poem. I was so blessed, as you were blessed.

    Reply
  6. James Sale

    Brilliant concluding couplet James – and the use of the epigraph is also brilliant in its understatement. This is what real poetry can do so well and better than political ranting! Great stuff!

    Reply
    • James A. Tweedie

      Ty, James. As you know, I recently poeticized on “political ranting” in my “Empty Words” post.

      Reply

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