A gardener entered the lawn
With a ladder under his arm.
He hummed a dancehall piece I did not know,
Sometimes he chanted and sometimes he whistled.
He raised the ladder before a decorative shrub,
Pulled a clipper, and began pruning the plant.
Slowly I saw a human head emerging,
With locks of protest sticking out.
I knew I had seen that hairstyle someplace before,
It seemed like the fashion all around.
The gardener descended from the ladder,
Stepped back and admired his work.
Then, with the ladder back under his arm,
He left the lawn, still chanting his song.