Petition

When the policeman’s blue uniform
arose on the porch, blurry through the glass,
I thought he was the mailman come
to deliver messages. Instead, I hear
our front yard violates a city code
against the nuisance of deleterious weeds.
(For a list of these, consult the volumes
of the state.) We have two weeks, or

they’ll throw the book at us. What appears
in the lawn must not arise of its own accord
as we have allowed. There’s a flat-leafed grass
with thick seed-heads that we love. The thyme
has crept several feet out from the bed
where we laid it in, and the perpetual
geranium, and sweet woodruff and new
sproutings of columbine. I know, what

I optimistically called wild aster really
clouds into puffs of seed. We pulled it,
along with another weed that flowers
in a gorgeous but uncalled-for purple. And we mowed.
However, please accept our reasoning that
the marshy grass is cultivated. It’s part
of the meadow we’re trying to grow, with moths
and bees, where morning tigers like to prowl.

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