Poem: The Leaf Blower by Mark Tulin

The leaf blower makes no eye contact
or casual conversation.
He wears a mask to hide his identity.

He just trods along squares of sidewalks,
over holes and broken driveways
blowing leaves and dust
into nice little piles.

While his gas blower is going,
he thinks of changing things,
of putting mankind’s dilemmas
into nice little piles
and composting
the corruption of the world
into fertile soil,
and then planting a garden
of white, red, and yellow  
flowers. 

©️mft