Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Friday, September 9, 2016

Sonnet #69

When people come to visit I must tell them

Welcome to the jungle house. So much grows
In every little corner, there's a plant that knows
Where all the sun is, and spreads to fill in
Three papayas fruit along the walkway
Spread their arms, duck underneath to pass
To where the sweet potato vines smother grass
Beside a lemon tree at our front door. I say
that I could harvest something every day
What use is grass and weekly chores of lawn
When fruit trees work so hard for little pay
And flowers call the butterflies in swarms?
Welcome to the jungle house, where we laze
We planted forests, let it work, avoid the uniform

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