My neighbor has made the offer now three times
and three times Iíve declined; Iím pretty sure
by polishing each blade until it shines
and tightening with care the cutting bar
until the edges whisper as they cross
Iíll trim my lawn with this antique push mower
and have no need of hers that runs on gas.
Itís true itís hard to push it up a hill
and that it tends to stutter on clumps of grass,
or weeds, or hidden sticks. But whereís the thrill
in doing things the easy way? Iíll walk
with stubborn, slow, consistent steps until
the mechanism steady as a clock
has harmonized the height of every stalk.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, David Danoff
would be pleased to hear them.