This Is Not Your Grandfather's Two-Man, Crosscut Chainsaw

Or

If I'm a Lumberjack, I'm Not Okay

I bought a brand new chainsaw, 'bout the sweetest ever was:
Sixteen-inch, fluorescent green—guaranteed to give a buzz.

And it didn't even cost that much (a deal, though not a Stihl),
But THIS machine will hum—it's not your father's Chainmobile.

I thought I'd sing right through a tree or two around my yard;
And with my new gas-powered ax, it wouldn't be that hard.

But then I read that it's intended "only for occasional use"—
Like maybe it's too arty for all that lumberjack abuse.

So furtively I hid my saw and bargained with a fellow
To fix my roof and move some stone—and cut a bunch of willow.

Beneath his purring chain the massive logs were vaporized;
I wished I could've joined right in with mine and harmonized…

Might cut some alto-tenor-basswood tree if I get to it;
But it's "only for occasional use"—don't want to overdo it.

So I commandeered him once again to trim out half my locust tree,
And I'll save mine till I get a chance—to join a chainsaw orchestree.

I could look at it this way:  like an untouched, high-tuned harp,
If I never, ever use it then I'll always keep it sharp.

                                                —O. Nonymous

                                                                                            © 2006