All You Can Eat Roadside Buffet

Look at that open field, the thigh high cacophony of
yarrow and milkweed, Queen Anne’s Lace and clover,
Black-eyed Susans and St John’s Wort, spiny
elbows by elbows, filmy colored wings by wings,
pokey proddy pointy antennas by antennas.
Dragonflies, butterflies, bees, and what have you,
proboscises poised and probing, slurping up exotic nectar and pollen,
every sort of insect loving yum in the late summer throb and buzz of
crickets and grasshoppers, all alighting on yellows and reds,
a humming holiday of late summer.
Someone thought mowing was a good idea
and desecration of this fine feast,
and everything cut and dry,
why? Why?