Leaf Blowers

They're here again, the dark-skinned men in earmuffs
hunchbacked under the weight of small combustion engines
patrolling sidewalks in clouds of golden dust.
They smile over the airy snarl
of their tools. They switch to "idle"
to let me pass, undusted.

Where will they go when all the leaves have fallen,
packed to the ground by cold winter rain? Do other
temporary outdoor jobs await, or will they blow away
in clouds of gold dust, clouds of smoke,
the diesel snarl of a southbound bus?

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside