SUBURBIA

Attack of the Fall Leaf Blowers

Ode on a rusty rake

They march forth singly and in pairs

Their flapping jowls aflame with whine

They belong to neighbors, no

These beasts of autumn are not mine.

Though my indoor beasts (chihuahuas) nap

their ears fold back and they agree

That when this neighborhood was built

We all had rakes, pitchforks, and tarps!

In a pinch, any hoe could do the job

And let’s recall the purpose of those tools:

To defend the Village from the monster

Frankenstein, or kill the aristocracy of France

I shall not let the gas-drunk bastards win

Despite how clean they make our yards!

I shall not go gentle into that good forest and

I’ll scoop my leaves just as before:

I’ll escort the oak, the beech, the gum

boldly — but in silence — off my lawn.