Don't Let a Poet Rake Your Leaves
Your wife will end up contemplating
Enjambment at the breakfast table
And the children will begin using your earnings
Reports to compose trioles.
If that poet takes off his shirt
Your mistress might crash the Civic
You bought her as she rounds the corner
Of Hemlock and Elm.
Save the money for a prop bet
And never let a poet rake your leaves
Even if he grew up in the carriage house
Of your estate.
Given enough time on your grounds
He'll turn the trumpet vines against you
And the orioles will compose ariels
Mocking your manhood....
I began this poem at the beginning of last summer when I was doing some lawn maintenance work. It was nice to get outside and earn some money for our vacation, but as the summer progressed I began to wear down. I haven't finished this poem yet.