If I Were a Poet

Out of the morning mist, he comes,
Leafblower, Son of Leafblower.
Weapon aimed, ready to defend
the kingdom of suburbia.

This war has raged for generations:
Leaf again man; man against leaf.
Every October, legions of warriors
descend upon the innocent land,
terrorizing the inhabitants,
who tremble inside their homes
while the mighty leafblowers fend off the invaders.

By the end of the day,
the last leaf has been blown,
and he stands victorious
on the battlefield.
He thinks of his father
and of his father’s father.
All of them have stood here before him,
all of them victors,
some of them legends.

Then he smiles as he thinks of his child,
who in time will learn to blow the leaves.
Someday he will be
Leafblower, Father of Leafblower.