One day, as the stink bug watches,
is enough to blow up a bud.
Everything in such a hurry
to get it done,
whether in the pots
or among the herbs.
But meanwhile in the lawn
the marauder buttercups are special forces,
unchallenged they’ll hand off to
saw-briar and blackberry and locust.
The mower is ordered
which is a little sad for what it will take down
but a lot necessary for what it will allow to come up.
The little entities we favor
cannot stand against the native ferocity
always alert and ready to resume dominion.
They will have it back, and soon enough,
but we shall extend our moment here a little longer.
With all due respect.