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Flora Non Grata
Bruce W. Niedt
I am the czar of my garden
awakened from long winter sleep.
I dictate what will grow here,
how large, how high -
I nurture the elite,
what I have hand-picked and planted,
bulbs, seeds, bushes.
I suffer no encroachers.
I am judge, jury,
executioner.
These common invaders
try to sway me with flowers,
purple or yellow, as a rule -
but all appeals are denied.
They come up by the root
chaffed to the side, into the black
plastic bag of oblivion.
I have purged them from my kingdom,
these prolific undesirables,
but they always return,
in time and force,
proletariat that they are.
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