They lay dead at our feet
as you rip them up from the ground
unroot them, make sure nothing is left.
You look me in the eyes as
you call them distasteful,
say they are ruining your garden.
When we were children
you would stamp them with your feet.
I told you that was bad for them,
I asked you not to kill them
and you said you did not care
as you lifted up your shoe
to reveal spilled yellow guts.
When we were children
I waited for them to change
for you to change
I did not lay a hand on them
until their lives had been lived.
they sat in the yard offering me wishes
which I always wasted on you.
Wind carries their seeds far and wide
but somehow, always back to your yard.
The wind always carries me back to you.
Each year they ask for mercy
that they will not receive
as your calloused hands do not wait
to hear what they have to offer.
You act without thinking as you kill.
No time to waste on the heart
when their eyesore is immediate, a challenge.
You desperately seek control,
and maybe that’s why your wishes never come true.