Garden be Wild – Matt Gilbert

I’m letting the garden be wild, 
I think, 
stop mowing the lawn 
to benefit bee,
butterfly, spider— 
never air-puddling
gnats, they agitate my sky.

I’m letting the wild be, think garden
hedges hanging loose, 
holly thickening, 
sparrow gossip halls, 
goldfinch clown acts,
and no fly zones 
for all the shitty grey pigeons.

I wild, I think I’ll garden, 
bindweed no,
pluck it out!
slash bramble,
all interlopers can wait 
to be rotten beneath the
ash I allow to remain.

I’m garden:
send hard boots down, 
suppress tangle and weed,
crush compost,
except you—pretty mallow, 
you may stay.

I’m thinking YES, wild garden, 
until a furred fury of
vigorous sinew 
erupts in my eyes, 
like a scream, 
upending all assumptions 
with a pink flick of rat-sceptic’s tail.

[With a tip of the hat to Wendy Cope]

Poem ©2021 Matt Gilbert
All rights reserved

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