Every day
they blow the leaves of the live oak trees
that have fallen to the ground the day before —
and blow anything else that has joined the earth
that is loose
and might respond to blowers.
Men hold them tight
and swing above the space
where they swung before —
just twenty-four hours ago.


They move the debris
all around the club house —
keeping its landscape clean.


Every day except Sunday
when the sounds aren’t missed
by those who walk along
and can hear the bird song
instead the roar of little engines.

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