There are men in my yard.
They entwine
My carefully cultivated flowers
That I’ve spent my life
Working to perfect.
My tulips, my petunias, my butterfly bush
All overcrowded
By the demands the men make
Of the surrounding soil.


I assault them.
Use all my might
To throw them away.
But next week, more are back
Growing without a thought
Assuming that I will someday
Give up,
Just let them thrive
And steal
And weaken.

Some are appealing.
Several buttercups (hold them under your chin
And ask if there is a reflection of beauty)
A few dandelions (quick, make a wish,
Knowing deep down
It will never come true)
Little multicolored men disguise themselves
As flowers
And it takes a minute to see them
For what they truly are

When my resolve begins to waver
And my rejections come slower
I will simply annihilate them
With my handy lawnmower.