Here is the latest installment of Poet’s Corner, presented by the Edmonds-based EPIC Poetry Group.
Lawn Mower Memories
Those damned monstrosities
God-awful contraptions
Dad described as “lawn mowers”
To me they were
The ultimate in torture devices
Designed to betray, frustrate
And totally resist my every attempt
To mow our sizeable lawn
Never a slick, shiny Toro or Craftsman
Always some dirt- and oil-encrusted
Prehistoric jury-rigged Frankenstein
Part mower but mostly
Mismatched belts, wheels and
One smoke-belching motor
Scary to behold
Almost impossible to fire up
Roughly 32% 0f the time
My 3-step starting routine proved successful
1) Laborious hand-cranking
2) Profuse sweating
3) Intense swearing
Then any number of Stage 2 Malfunctions could arise
Including, but not limited to, slipping gears,
Jamming blades or reels
Gurgling, gasping engine failures
Often in rapid succession
Returning me with increased anger
And decreased hope
To the dreaded starting (or not) stage
How many times I retreated
Defeated and exhausted
From some dead, smoldering scrapheap
Mired in the vibrant green bog
That our pasturage had become
Only the Gods of Mowing can know
I’d estimate hundreds, possibly thousands
Of wasted, clipping- littered afternoons
Dotting the days of my wasted youth
Oddly perhaps
And despite what Dad believed
Yet never actually said to me
(“I can’t get it started again” really means
“Tommy hates mowing the lawn…”)
I LOVED lawn-mowing
Craved that special joy of seeing
Row after row of shaggy grass
Laid evenly, lovingly low
Smelling freshly mown blades
As they covered work shoes and rolled-up cuffs
Of my grass-stained Levis
My $5 a week, 5-hour job behind a quality machine
At Ben Jensen’s Dairy Farm
Provided sublime mowing experiences
Week after wonderful, summertime week
I was the proud craftsman
Piloting a flaming red
22-inch 4 ½ horsepower
Toro ReelMaster Supreme
These days, many summers removed
From those unforgettable green expanses
Still I love my precious turns
Always behind the latest top-of-the-line model
My friends at Toro can provide
Tom Fortin
~ ~ ~ ~
Saint Louisa: Patron Saint of Procrastinators
So often in my times of need
Have I invoked you, seeking your ethereal aid
Always you respond, albeit belatedly
Who would expect otherwise?
Ever wise in your counsel you guide me
One halting step at a time
Climbing that stairway to a reasonable heaven
I hesitate, pause to reconsider
Yet you are unrelenting in your urgings
Demanding that I snap out of it
Measure up
Take another stab at….whatever
You answer all entreaties faithfully
Sagely and firmly propelling me
Eventually I will find my circuitous way
“When?” the only question
Tom Fortin
~ ~ ~ ~
Banishing the Monsters
I never had trouble when I was a kid
With monsters who hid ‘neath my comfortable bed
But now in my old age those creatures appear
Lodged deep in my kidneys instead
They gather for months in their little mean groups
Laying plans for their journeys of pain
They all run amok ‘til a couple get stuck
And I’m back in the E.R. again
Some meds do the trick and the ache is gone quick
Plus my docs have some tricks up their sleeves
Aiming sweet ultrasounds at each mass that they’ve found
All my symptoms they swiftly relieve
My story ends happily thanks to my docs
And also to medical science
If more monsters come, pills will render them numb
On their mercies I’m forever reliant.
Tom Fortin
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
About the poet:
I’m a longtime, retired high school and community college teacher with plenty of time now for “Fooling with Words.” My active interest in creating my own poetry was launched by that Bill Moyers-titled PBS series in 1998. And lately I enjoy becoming more public with my poetic attempts.
I love my present Lynnwood/Edmonds/Sno-King life. The vibrant artistic climate surrounding us here today fills my heart — and my poetic spirit — to overflowing.
I loved your words. I love poetry. This was so enjoyable. Thanks Tom. Do some more!
So fun to read these! Thanks, Tom.