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Sport 38: Winter 2010

Ellmer's Mower Centre

page 204

Ellmer's Mower Centre

In the weekend, that remnant of civilisation,
we took our beat-up President 3000 to Nelson's
shop in Upper Cuba Street because it wouldn't
start no matter how many tricks we played on it.

The problem used to be that it wouldn't stop
unless we yanked out the spark plugs and now
it wouldn't stop or start and the lawns were thick
and so high there was talk of a goat or two.

We parked the President beside a regiment
of shiny units where it looked like a poor relation
visiting from the sticks with tales of neglect;
nights left out in the rain and cruel stones.

I was sorry we'd graunched the blades against
the edges of the concrete path under the clothes-
line and choked it with ti kouka leaves so that it
gave a few hard coughs, spluttered and died.

We had coffee while we waited for the verdict—
The President is Dead/Long Live the President.