Random, Unedited Poetry Moment: Weeding in the Rain

Clouds are yanging raindrops
while I go about my murder
escapades that I maybe enjoy
more than should be admitted,
but it feels good to yank weeds from
the soil they don’t deserve to feed from
and pile them up in a mound of nutrient
suckers no more. There’s just something
about tearing those mofos out
of that black dirt and shaking their roots
free of it, hanging limp in my hand
like the lizards I used to clip on my ears
as a fashion concession to my mom
who wanted me in pink bows and frilly dresses
while I ran around in my brother’s underoos.

Spider Man did my homework and made mud pies
in the garden. He could swim like a mermaid
for hours and roller skate like Linda Blair.

The milkweed is freed from the stranglehold
of the crabgrass, betony, and chamberbitters
and the rain has given me a water-beaded hat,
cooling my mind. A hawk landed on the ground
in front of my car when I got home from work
this afternoon. He looked back at me, spread
his wings fully on display, and flew off with
a strand of wandering jew stuck in his talons.


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