The Leaf Barfer
What is this noise I hear next door
No whining child or weekend mower
A choking whirlwind of nasty gusts
Means this machine I cannot trust
The dust and dirt cloud that I see
Must, of course, be meant for me
The dreaded, snarling, nasty sputter
Covers most of my invective utter
Might it help man or beast in any way
Oh no, this ugly, rattling thing of play
Was never meant for light of day
My selfish neighbor, otherwise perhaps my friend
Has decided Sunday peace must end
With ear muffs, goggles, handy hazmat gloves
He pokes his prehistoric fuming snout
Right into his water spout
My driveway, lawn now all beneath
Old candy wraps, bits of Christmas wreath
Detritus, muck, his wet-dry gray tsunami
Makes him be my demented enemy
Oily fumes of his exhaust and all the rest
exacerbate this disgusting social test
I do not wish to take my lumps
From what foments like Donald Trump.
M.D. Apedaile, 2019
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