Grassmangler

Fragmented gobs of grass spew forth from the underbelly of the machine.
Tossed unceremoniously aside by the ruthless gurgling motor, they now rest on the surface to putrefy and sink underground.

I evacuate sweat from my brow as I manhandle the thunderous lacerator of lawns.
Pacing ahead, I conduct the blade as it decapitates helpless blades.

The motor’s fortissimo rattling stutters and falters; it has consumed its malodorous life-juices.

I halt it and bring it onto the driveway where it intersects the sidewalk.
I take the evil-looking petrol can from the garage and set it down.
The nozzle I uncap, the filler cap on the motor I twist off, the funnel I insert.
I hastily decant the liquid, its effluvium burning my nostril, furrowing it.

The fluid is poured too briskly; it overflows and floods the engine.

The heat from the motor disgorges a tremendous fireball that leaps five metres from the ground.
I am felled by the fell flames.
The combustion consumes the contraption.
Dazed, I look up to see a burning piece of metal plummeting towards my head.
I roll away just in time, conveniently putting out a flame on my leg.

I look around and see pieces of the motor littered over a broad area, with the mangler of grasses now burning brightly.
I make haste to fetch an extinguisher, before the horrendous conflagration consumes the domicile.

With foam-belcher in hand and safety pin torn off, I take aim at the burning nuggets on the lawn.
The red apparatus regurgitates its payload, asphyxiating the miniature infernos.
I then direct the efflux to the pieces on the sidewalk and the grassmangler itself.

The extinguished fragments of metal are gathered into a pile and laid next to the blackened device.
With certain cataclysm precluded, I retreat to my residence, leaving the metallic carcass to fume.