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  • Connor Laubenstein

Two Poems: Odes to the Lawnmower

Wouldn't it be something if a lawnmower had a voice of its own? Well, guess what: now it does. Not really so much, actually, but I imagined a few things a lawnmower might say if given the opportunity. Inso doing, I present to you The Linksland Legionnaire, and Parts Unknown: The Culinary Mower.


Note: no lawnmowers were consulted, fed, or harmed in making these poems.

The Linksland Legionnaire


Awake, I rise on misty morn’

To cast away the midnight scorn

Creaking, shifting

Cracking frost beneath my tired wheels


A pouring flash gives lion’s breath

Still, my work is of sheep, and goats, and rabbits

But they are gone now, away, to another field


I trundle

Out, and back, and back again

Forever the steed


A legionnaire, posted here

on rocky outcrop, linked to sea

With passers by doffing caps, congratulating me


Rider grunts, and swears, and toils with a scare

unbecoming for the maker of such beauty

He fears they will never sing his name, or mine

He knows I have none to sing—

just a shape moving across other shapes


So many souls are found here

And lost

We excavate from mortal bonds

The clippings and trimmings

Cast them back to be clippings and trimmings again


How to rest, when sleepless is our task?

It grows, and grows, and never stops growing

We are wired this way

To fight back—to create through that which we destroy


Rider says to me good night

I try and sing for him

Yet away, he drifts

Away, we drift


Parts Unknown: The Culinary Mower