An older one. But on a day like this, here, I thought appropriate... Lawnmower

Lawnmower

Hundreds of tiny moths flee before me
Ephemera.  Lesser lives, cut like dandelions
or strangled in oily air filters.

The dog won't move.
He's become immmune to the threat and the grass is cool.
Old bones disallow fear of the growl or the shocking impact
of fallen branch on blade.

September wind is blowing hard up here today in Michigan.
Canceling summer like a bad check.
Clouds and football roll over the city.
A passing bird casually heading south, a faint whiff of ice.

I can hear the big lake breathing, forty miles away.
Coughing up snow we'll soon find falling.
On breakers and swells, the last boats tow fish and fat drunks between the piers.
While the sun descends into water, thoughtfully considering the nature of cold.

Gas her up again, prime, pull to start.
The deck's too high, but it doesn't matter.
Let a couple moths fly... blown out the gap between blade and grass.
Unshredded and heading straight up into the diminishing light.

I haven't seen the damned geese yet.
But they're in flight, hundreds of miles north of here, in fog and rain.
Feel the steady beat of their wings on this wind?
I tend to hold them responsible

For this oncoming rush of air
For the grey sky that's no longer gold
For this grass that must be cut
For another season when it will grow
For the lake that will no longer breathe
    
They must know this is no place to be...
Not while the wind is up and things begin to fall
so thoughtlessly from the sky.

A 1 and a 2 and a you know what to do...