Against the Evidence: Selected Poems, 1934–1994

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. Who Could Have Believed It? Who could have believed it? This is hell and I am looking out upon grass and trees. The air is calm, it's the beginning of Spring and soon leaves will sprout and give us a green hell and a warm sun and lake to swim in to cool us off,then to dress and dine towards an evening film of the hell of others, which surely we will enjoy for its art and in private admit it should be lived, since living has no other form for us. Rise up from your seats, Ladies and gentlemen, and turn in for bed, locking your bodies together to affirm yourselves. The Life They Lead I wonder whether two trees standing side by side really need each other. How then did they spring up so close together? Look how their branches touch and sway in each other's path. Noticehow at the very top, though, they keep the space between them clear, which is to say that each still does its thinking but there is the sun that warms them together. Do their roots entangle down there? Do they compete for nourishment in that fixed space they have to share between them, and if so,is it reflected in their stance toward one another, both standing straight and tall, touching only with their branches. Neithertree leans toward or away from the other. It could be a social device to keep decorum 706 | Poems of the 1970s ...