Friday, June 11, 2010

Death of a Lawn Mower

Death of a Lawn Mower

It died in its sleep,
dreaming of grass,
its knives silent and still,
dreaming too, its handlebars
a stern, abbreviated cross
in tall weeds. Where is he
whom it served so well?
Its work has come to nothing,
the dead keep to themselves.

David Ignatow

Posted over on The Writer's Almanac

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