Mowing
 
My neighbor has made the offer now three times
and three times I’ve declined; I’m pretty sure
by polishing each blade until it shines
and tightening with care the cutting bar
until the edges whisper as they cross
I’ll trim my lawn with this antique push mower
and have no need of hers that runs on gas.
It’s true it’s hard to push it up a hill
and that it tends to stutter on clumps of grass,
or weeds, or hidden sticks. But where’s the thrill
in doing things the easy way? I’ll walk
with stubborn, slow, consistent steps until
the mechanism steady as a clock
has harmonized the height of every stalk.

David Danoff

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  David Danoff  would be pleased to hear them.