Yard Work

On a shelf in my shed, there is an old, worn machete. On the handle, you can see my name, etched there in the wood by a much younger hand. Though it has seen plenty of use in its time, it’s fair to say I’ve not wielded that old cutlass much in the past twenty years. Yet, there it is on the shelf. If it serves no other purpose, it serves as a reminder.

*****

Today, I spent hours outside working in my yard. With spring in full force, it seems you can watch the grass and plants grow. First I picked up all the sticks and debris. Then came the weed eater, which never works properly. Finally, it was time for the actual mowing. I’m the only person on my street that uses a push mower.

All the neighbors have “lawn tractors”. I have a big yard, so I sometimes look with envy at the neighbors as they putt around their lawns, sitting high in the saddle, cold beer in hand.

When we moved into this house with its big yard, I made a conscious decision not to buy a riding mower. I’ve been around a while, but I’m not old yet. I’m healthy and fit, more so than many men my age. Yes, it’s a big yard, but I choose to push mow on principle.

If I ever have a bigger yard, or perhaps in a few more years, I’ll allow myself the luxury of a nice riding model.

Not now, though. For now, I will walk back and forth, breaking a sweat. For now, I will feel the earth beneath my feet; the dips and rises that go unnoticed when sitting on a tractor.

When I put away my tools this afternoon – the weed eater, the hedge clippers, the lawn mower – I was hot and tired. I’m not a young man. As sometimes happened, my eye caught a glimpse of the old machete on the shelf. It was covered in dust and cobwebs. The rusty blade hasn’t been filed in ages. For some reason, I let my eyes linger for a moment, taking note of these details.

As I did so, the old cutlass seemed to taunt me.

“Bwoy, how yuh get so soft?”

“Wha’? Yuh think mi stush?” I demanded the of the cutlass. “Yuh no see is push mowah mi a use? Dem next man ah de one a ride. A push me a push mow, sah. Cho.”

I shut up the shed and slid the bolt into place. I walked back across the freshly cut lawn, unconsciously smiling to myself. That cutlass has some nerve. I push mow on principle.

*****

On a shelf in my shed, there is an old, worn machete. If it serves no other purpose, it serves as a reminder.

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[Author's Note: This poem was first published in the chapbook, Beyond the Horizon: Journeys in Poetry and Prose, 2010]