Grovetide


Little did I know how it could go
Although I should have known
How it would grow when planted.
I planted a weed, tree weed, that would
Wash up everywhere. There appears
No way to shore up the onslaught.
At root, the problem is roots.
The trees will send out runners
Sprouting from the earth to attack
Me like alien clones invading my space.
Suckers to the assault! Offspring of
Aspen incest run and shoot
Metastasizing, the lawn long-gone.
Mowing incites, it seems, a reflex
To procreate, spurring roots, shoots,
And leaves until the only thing left
To do is apply herbicide, chemotherapy—
Kill the root, kill the earth. Or perhaps
I might burn them three ways to
Wednesday. It has been said that
The largest living organism is an aspen
Grove somewhere in the Rockies. A single
Tree that has propagated to a hundred
Something acres. So now I know what I did
Not know those years ago. From a tree
A forest will grow. Yes, in the fall I am
Rich when the aspen turn to gold,
Until winter wind blows hard and cold
Sharing my wealth with neighbors
Then I am again poor me left with roots
Dormant, waiting to spring to run
And shoot at the sucker who planted them.
When the world ends, I expect that then
An aspen will shade the last cockroach.