I don’t know whether to ride

my mower or push my snow-blower.

Given what April brings to us.

A drift, a daffodil. A decision

better left to not deciding. 

Letting the sun do what it will

by the end of the afternoon.

Letting the grass stick through.

Letting the blades decide to mow 

or throw the snow away 

from my driveway onto the road. 

Back into the field.

Where it’s sure to disappear,

as sure as May will arrive.

Whether or not the mercury inches

above freezing. 

And the engines in my garage

can’t think of not turning over.

Coughing up smoke. 

Clearing their throats of oil.

Making a fresh start to

whatever season this is.

In Vermont, the one

weather we can count on.

Making mud of our lives.

If we’ve taken off our winter

tires. Before it’s time

to take off our winter tires.

Time, gentlemen and women,

to start our engines.

Don’t be surprised when I say

from here in Daytona.

By the track. By the beach.

Where I can plow the sand

with my feet. 

Cut some grass, if I feel like it.

Gary Margolis

Cornwall Town Poet