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Dave Bonta
missing heads and shrivelled petals
orotund with seed
corn-fed on extra syllables
trapped between the teeth
nearly reptilian our rictus
of gratitude for another sun
let us trust the rust within us
to paint our noble ruins red
as knotweed blossoms into lace
and devil’s-tail brandishes blue fruit
immune to anything that ravishes
without or within
they spread like miracules
their missionary impositions
as we lower our last dreams
into the earth
Commonly, this is done with herbicide.
Leery of that, she tried a chain saw. That was
Easy enough, but made fumes and sets fire to
All the earth's air over time. Electric clippers
Ruled the roost awhile, but that, we know,
In the scheme of things is but a longer tailpipe,
Neither the labor direct nor personal. She's
Going to have to simplify further. She takes
The hand pruner with her to the patch. It means
Her time in blighted shade, bending, will be
Extended, reaching to each stem in turn,
Killing with a snip and twist, dragging four or five
Not so much weeds as small trees outward
Or upward from the dry wash, toward hot sun,
Toward the roasting garden, into the paths