First you’ve got the prime
the engine, one, two,
three—and if you’ve got
the right idea,
and pull that cord
so hard your shoulder
jolts, you’ll get its attention.
That blade’ll turn and growl.
It is best to mow the lawn
in a rectangular spiral,
four corners sharking in
on that last king dandelion.
Circumscribe trees twice;
let them know you know they’re waiting
for any excuse
to drop sticks and leaves.
Become one with the lawnmower,
take its chuff and cough
inside of you.
If you run out
of gas, take a break, have
some lemonade, stomp on the
molehills. Begin again.
Mow your lawn until it
is a hockey puck
steak, until the trees are
limbless children and king
dandelion abdicates the throne.
Stop. Put the mower away,
metal panting like a weimaraner
gone hart-hunting.
Wash the dust from your throat
with some sour lemonade
and enjoy your just desert.