Blowhard and windbag

Blowhard and windbag

Two leaf blowers

Move slowly along the path

Swinging old fossil burners

From side to side

As if they were flame throwers.

The leaves scatter

White flags waving

Escaping a maelstrom

Clambering over each other

In their haste to re-group

After the enforced retreat

Crowding back in behind

To mount a glorious display

Of one-up-manship

As the autumn wind plays Moses,

Parting, forming, moving

In complete command

And I wondered at the purpose.

There was no big bag to fill

No shovel or fork to bale them

The leaves barely sat still

For a moment

Long enough

To share a brief hello

Before spinning up

Into an animated

Windblown

Interpretive dance

The stink of petrol in the air

The squeal of noise pollution

What good does it do,

Other than providing

A measure of pointlessness

To the lives

Of a meagre workforce

Hungry for a sniff

Of job satisfaction

And give the Greenbelt

Environmental aesthetic

A bad name.