Roundup
A #poetry thread
i.
He pours his concrete over sand
and gardens with his tools of steel,
makes paths of gravel over land,
thinks he controls just how his plants feel.
In neat, tight rows he makes them grow.
If any plant dares grow too tall,
he wields his scythe and starts to mow.
All green things must stay neat and small.
🧵👇🏼
#poem #poemaday #nature #bloomscrolling #macrophotography #photography
ii.
The gardener sits in oval barn
and sends out icy clouds of rain
to chill the sprouts, stay free from harm
should any plants grow tall again.
My God, a weed! His eagle eye
spots one “good” dandelion… grow.
He gets his can of bitter lyes
and dumps some on its leafy toes.
The little weed soon withers, wilts,
but then another takes its place —
he rages while his lye-stream silts
into the soil that his plants taste.
🧵👇🏼
iii.
Once more he sprays his lyes around
to kill that “pretty” yellow bloom —
his own plants sink into the ground,
their poppy-red heads sink in gloom.
He ran into his barn’s white frame
to fight some pests on desert fields.
Two dandelions, though dead, gained fame
while sapping his brown garden’s yield.
Before he knew it, fields turned green
and gold, a rising yellow patch
that spread across where poppies’ mean—
ness died from all the lye they’d catch.
✋🏼🧵
Jack Groundhog 📷📸🪶