Our Sundays are given voice
By the small engine repairman
Whose fingers, stubby and black,
Know our mowers and tractors,
Chainsaws, rototillers,
Each plug, gasket and valve
And all the vital fluids.
Thanks to him our lawns
Are even, our gardens vibrant,
Our maples pruned for swingers,
The underbrush whacked away.
“What’s broke can always be fixed,
That is, if you have the green
And I can find the parts,”
He says as he loosens a nut,
Exposes the carburetor,
Tinkers and tunes until
To the slightest pull on the cord
The engine at once concurs.
Let him come into our homes,
Let him discipline our children,
Console and counsel our mates,
Adjust the gap of our passions,
The mix of our humors: lay hands
On the small engine of our days
And make it again as new.
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Home & Work
Prayer for the Small Engine Repairman
Charles W. Pratt