Sophomore Poem 3 - Marxist Nature in a Fascist Courtyard

People walk by casually in street clothes

They think they have put up a barrier between

themselves and nature

but nature is right in front of them

inside a small circle of dirt that has been

surrounded by concrete.


Even now it creeps out-

shooting runners full of leaves and flowers

onto the neatly paved walkway


We call them weeed, these little plants

that are too tempestuous for our domestication.

Truly though, they are nature's new survivalists

able to take foothold in a tightly patrolled environment

They are surrounded by men with bottles of herbicide

and yet they press onward, undaunted by prospects

of their own deaths


And once these weeds take root

the garden will eventually be lost

for try as he might, the gardener cannot

pull all the remnants of the weeds from the ground

our little soldiers will overthrow

the sellout pansies, dafodils and chrysanthemums

blocking out their light and taking back

what they once owned.


Then the gardner will have no say so in the matter

and the weeds will finally be left to their own devices.

The End

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