for Twiglet #140

A Mile Wide

Sharks are making a last-ditch effort to get us out of their seas.
Their mouths seem so small when they are closed. As do ours.

Tangentially, the mile-wide swath–Mixed Meadow flowers–sowed
to flourish all unmown, are ragweed. A moral dilemma: nothing

to be sneezed at. If only in our own minds, we are guardians
of rabbits that race like thunderbolts, slugs that taste tomatoes.

As plants and animals disappear, what extinction will take ragweed?
Who’s been in charge of plant development and distribution?

The bird I saw singing from the cypress’ outer-tip branch proved
to be a bug on the window screen. Who, then, was singing?

Not the hummingbird: it is perplexed by an empty seed feeder.
Not the wind: it is still. Not the kettle: it just burbles. Not me.

Why should I trust Mixed Meadow Seed’s label when my food
includes a sardonic voice to read its ingredients? I wonder:

Who first thought to claim for man dominion over all that runs,
flies, swims, crawls, rolls, or stays put? Couldn’t he hear the birds?



2 thoughts on “for Twiglet #140

  1. This a totally fabulous. Some of the line breaks are borderline genius. That constraint is to keep you grounded….

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