weeds

tiny sprouts
crowding my cucumbers
a poor decrepit species on the end
aged edges

i have no problem crooning
power ballads, love songs
anything to coax them along

feeling guilty that this plant
appears to be less loved
evidenced by the wilted stem

the rowdy tomatoes are becoming unruly
testing the boundaries
tiny yellow flowers

weeding, i pry secrets out of the earth
places of growth, flood and drought
asking the beets for forgiveness
for not giving them the love they deserve.

i just like cucumbers better.