Steve fires up the leaf blower and proceeds
to shake the neighborhood from its morning
peace and quiet. A man of leafy deeds,
he has no other life, it seems, scorning
every precept of neighborly decorum.
Nor is he kinder to the afternoon
or evening, filling his daily quorum
of mind-destroying mayhem by sun or moon—
it’s always time for another session
of sound and fury. Nothing’s tentative
about so manifest an obsession.
I now suspect it’s representative.
There must be more to life than blowing leaves
or living out a destiny like Steve’s.
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 37 Number 7, on page 26
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