tone poem

by windrag

our parking strip, neglected, grows up wild,
every season shows a fresh new
face, diverse and course, ’til when it’s at
it’s lushest it’s razed to dirt.

the neighbors cultivate their little patch,
and season after season pluck
the weeds between the cared-for plants they planted.
year-round, a pleasant place.

and there you go, my love,
making the same mistakes.