Somewhere between my water spigot and a
neighbor’s neglected fence, I have lost the war.
From all sides, weedy minions encroach on my best
intentions, they’ve infiltrated the deeply dug beds
of my dreams and smothered seeds that failed to
germinate my hope for a better eden. Day after endless
day, I beat back the crabby masses, insulting insects
and gluttonous gophers, haul water to parched leaves
curling out in the field, and nurse the injured nibbled by
deer and stepped on by meter readers. With the help of a
full seed moon, I long to stand vigil against raccoon thievery
and possum vandalism, but reluctantly I must retire until the
bird’s insistent reveille when I will rise to fight once again
despite my stooped back, cracked cuticles and poison ivy.
I’m writing a poem every day in April as part of NaPoWriMo’s celebration of National Poetry Month. Won’t you join me in poetry?