Sep 112014

by Dan Leach



A lawnmower is not a sparrow.

Its early morning notes, blending

with leaf-blowers and hedge-trimmers

do not ease me into Saturday.


Steel blades spin faster than flapping wings,

sharpened to cut through delicate things.

Like grass and root,

Like peace and quiet.


Never have I smiled

when the lawnmower’s song reached my bed.

Yet never has a bare-foot boy of summer

hidden in a holly bush,

armed with a brown-sack lunch

and a BB gun,

pumped twice with a wicked grin

and held a lawnmower in his scope.