A Poem from David Ignatow

Death of a Lawn Mower
by David Ignatow

It died in its sleep,
dreaming of grass,
its knives silent and still,
dreaming too, its handlebars
a stern, abbreviated cross
in tall weeds. Where is he
whom it served so well?
Its work has come to nothing,
the dead keep to themselves.

One thought on “A Poem from David Ignatow

  1. Pingback: Tweets that mention A Poem from David Ignatow | ARTHUR MAGAZINE -- Topsy.com

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