Go on,
get it over with.
I dare you to kick me over,
I will turn the other cheek.
Just try to mow me down
you won’t get my roots out.
Oh, what’s that?
You brought the herbicide today,
oh, green-thumbed one?
I hope you don’t miss
a single one of us
once.
Even if you can manage
to banish all of us,
our cousins will pop back over
from the neighbor’s yard.
No matter what happens,
we have the utmost faith
that we’ll be back.
In the face of degradation,
we live on
by way of what we scatter,
by what we leave behind.
May our hope,
sail on warm zephyrs
and forever outrun
your worst machinations.
The File Pile 