Yesterday a man with a gas-powered steel-brushed broom
cleaned the slab of concrete that we call our parking lot.
The trees spent the evening weeping over the noise,
and now a fresh accumulation of blossoms
makes the raw power of machinery seem petty.
I, however, will aim to use my blender symbolically.
I have an itch to explore the tension
between metal and mush,
between blossom and brutality,
between garden and city.
Osterizer has answered the call.