Weed-Pulling

You cannot pull weeds without getting dirty
No matter what prissy sister says
A film of sweat dirt sunshine
Congeals upon my brow and back
As I uproot the grassroots of
The June generation of parasites

The deceptively delicate ones, the
"Baby" ones
Who fall like martyrs at such a tender age
The cunning ones who with
Grim desperation have
Sought purchase beneath the cleft of a rock
And the ones who are downright cheery, brazen
Bold, sprawled in the open for all the world to see
Content to play the always game of
Gardener versus the mischievous side of nature

I salute the menacing bees as I engender a massacre
Turning green earth supple and powdery brown
Making way for the ready-waiting wave of new weeds

Tireless they are, not
Like me

But here on this day
In this sunshine, for now
This is my patch
Of the front flowerbed

This earth is my claim
My toil
Flagged by the imprint of my
Shoeless feet
My name here
While it is clear
When the weeds come again
Someone else may have it