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.



[First published in Children, Churches and Daddies, 2000.]

10/04/2001

Posted on 10/04/2001
Copyright © 2025 Bruce W Niedt