Leaf blowers

I blow day in day out

Swinging my hose like an elephant

Of 42 years

If those in the cool gym pay little eye to my shuffle

Tis my rumbling load of 50lbs –a delicate tortilla chip under the bar to bench

 Still reassured am I for aerobic damsels and gents appreciate a cleared brick walkway

All year round.

But some I've heard complain

When my roaring engine climbs to the 34th floor penthouse 

as easy as a soaring bird

And once not hearing

I blew into a fellow leaf blowing colleague

A spiraling leaf stuck onto my sticky chin

And my aftershave osmosed into it.

My blower and I are close –even my kidneys have adapted to the vibrations

I have taken it with me to restaurants

And museums

(at the MOMA I blew beside Rembrandts and Monets, the depiction of fertile soiled

Foregrounds stimulated me to the point that my hose knocked over a lady)

I have blown the peaks of Mont Blanc and the Everest

As well as the highest dune in the Sahara.

After some time I learned to blow blueberries on my pancake

And my children enjoy how quickly I can cool their hot broth for diner

Or send a bowling ball down the lane

One day I wish is to blow a thread through a needle!

Nevertheless, after all these years of ex-suction (you guessed, my youth was mired

As an office vacuum cleaner)

Tis the 32 acres of my Condo complex

That inspires me to blow, blow hard, and blow best.