sometimes when I speak
I hear my father’s voice
especially when I’m at Sears
grumping a labyrinthine course
from department to department
building to building
looking for lawnmower parts
and walking across the parking lot
muttering to myself (as he taught me)
I remember 9th grade shop class
when, in need of small engine
to disassemble and reassemble
he didn’t buy one
at the local repair shop
as was the custom
but instead unbolted
the Briggs and Stratton
from the trusty red mower
the only mower, really
and took it to school
where I diligently took it apart
scrubbing the parts as I went
ground the valves
new piston rings
put it all back together
as my father and his father had done
with their own explorations
in internal combustion
and in the Spring
heard not a word from dad
about that strange idle problem
the engine ramping up,
then dropping off
before ramping up again
the quick cadence
became the new rhythm
for mowing the lawn
Posted in: NaPoWriMo