Mowing

The rain had been thick and constant,
The world covered in grass,
It was growing absolutely everywhere,
I suspect even on my arse.
The mower had been standing idle,
Not needed in the drought,
But now it was expected to perform,
Beyond the shadow of a doubt.
I straddled the machine with deliberation,
Let off a nervous fart,
I prayed to God it would operate,
That this monstrosity would start.
It awakened with a reluctant roar,
Black bile belching out,
I punched the air with my delight,
And pealed off a mighty shout.
We thundered over hill and gully,
Leaving mulch behind,
We mowed everything in our path,
We mowed all that we could find.
A cane toad hopped away furiously,
For it’s life it did beg,
We hit it at twenty miles and hour,
Its remnants showering my leg.
I zapped around fallen logs,
The speed set to high,
I slalomed through the native trees,
Until one poked me in the eye.
I mowed the back of the dam,
Letting forth thunderous peals,
Until for a moment I lost control,
And was up on two wheels.
Vertigo clammily clasped my spine,
I thought I was in a dream,
That I’d joined an evil circus,
And was in the Precision Driving Team.
Time slowed down, then slowed again,
Like it never had before,
I was able to gain control,
And continue on wheels numbering four.
I admit I had been scared,
My Chi had bullied my Zen,
But next time ‘round I went faster,
So that I could do that stunt again.
I was leveling grass and branches,
From the tiny to the fat,
Until I stopped paying attention,
And mowed my sunglasses and my hat.
I stopped to refuel my maniacal machine,
It was surely running low,
I added some lubricant and some methanol,
To give it that extra go.
I continued to level all before us,
Over five acres did we roam,
Until I got off to get some plastic,
And the mower went on alone.
It bore a grudge for its rough treatment,
Retribution made it feel fine,
I’m not as fast as my blasphemous beast,
Now I have toes numbering nine.