I exercise my dominant mammal rights
on this small piece of land between the house
and the sidewalk. The plants here
are mine, to do with as I will. Trowel in hand,
I commit genocide on yarrow, povertyweed,
the never-defeated armies of dandelions.
I dig deep, going for the roots, I understand,
as conquerers must, that the most important defeat
must happen underground, that the smallest defiant shred
can raise an army again, that a nation
of nodding peonies cannot live in the shadow
of purple loosestrife.
3 comments:
I almost feel bad for the weeds. :-)
I like what you're trying to do here with tone. Love povertyweed. The parallel between gardening and democracy. Especially like the closing line, "that a nation
of nodding peonies cannot live in the shadow of purple loosestrife."
Playful but cutting.
I also wonder about starting off more subtle, say with the second line, and working up to the end, so that we are carried along with you and can see how these thoughts are easy to think. It would change the direction slightly, but it's just an idea for later if you want to play around with revision.
I heartily agree with Bren on both counts...though I must say that the poem also makes me think of those conquerers that salted the earth instead of replacing one set of blooms with another.
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