Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Damn the Leaf Blower

I left for the hospital on an ordinary day. I have returned to extraordinary autumn scenery. But the damn leaf blower has just begun howling in my yard. I was peaceful. Now I am mad. Leave my leaves alone!!!!! I holler this in my head only. The leaf-blowing fool would not take kindly to my criticism. So I write to him a poem full of wrath. He will never see this. Ha! It feels so good.

You May Not Have All of Me

Luscious red berries wait for the cedar waxwings
to swoop down and gobble them up
to strip the branches bare of berries
like I wait for you to swoop down and gulp
me up like a lukewarm latte, not delicious
perhaps but finished off, the cup stripped bare

Yellow sycamore leaves fall like a congregation
of large butterflies fluttering from the sky
one after another tumbling down in its last dance
before landing on the grass in final rest
The lawn wears a yellow blanket of leaves
and I wait for you to tire of them, to roar
your several engines designed to suck up
dead butterflies because you cannot stand the mess

The red berries are safe from you bushwhacker,
waiting for the cedar waxwings who are late
this year, because the fence protects the shrubs
from your finishing touch, your need for order
and finality. I love you but the wild things
tumbling in my heart cry out against you,
you finisher of things blind to butterflies

You take me lukewarm and swallow the last
drop, not to waste a moment or a latte,
tolerant of my imperfections, loving me
despite the wild things making messes
in our house, our yard, my private places
I wait for you to tire of me as surely you must
when your desire for order overcomes your lust
for the red berries in my heart, untouchable
beyond the fence and safe until the waxwings


Anonymous said...

Oh, this is a manifesto that proudly stands against all those who would take more than they give.

This is slicing, dicing, exquisitely searing the edges and cauterizing as it strips the motive right to the core.

Myrna R. said...

Too bad he won't see this. In spite of your wrath, he would have to enjoy the poem. So well done.

(Sounds like you're feeling better. I'm glad.)

Monkey Man said...

I have an electric leaf blower, but prefer my rake. Nothing wrong with a bit of exercise. Great fall poem.

PS - I'll be looking for your whispering voice post.

Magpie said...

"He" doesn't follow your blog?
I love your photo. I'm somewhere between you two...I like the leaves, but can only take the "clutter" for so long. Then I need to inflict order again.

the walking man said...

That was pretty mild anger if you ask me. No Italian or Irish in your DNA.

Kim A. said...

I am glad your homecoming was full of color and calm. Our falling leaves make me pause and say a prayer of thanks for the moment. I think I would ask the bushwhacker to leave my yard alone...then I would break his leaf blower..(j/k..I'm not that brave) Happy Day..


Marion said...

I just read your previous post. I'm so glad you're home again, even if it is to a field of golden leaves which sound as if they're heading for the compost heap.

"to roar
your several engines designed to suck up
dead butterflies because you cannot stand the mess"...I've known people like this and understand your angry lament. I've often wondered what it would hurt to just ignore the wonderful fall carpet for a few days, until I've had my fill.

Feel better, dear Chris. I'm glad your hubby is looking out for you.

Syd said...

I don't like those leaf blowers. We rake the leaves and use them in the compost bins. From them, next summer's vegetables will come forth.