"A weed is a flower growing in the wrong place."
                               George Washington Carver
Spike-haired, brass-blonde,
they invade the bluegrass suburbs
where blades form a passive sameness
if tended as intended.  They strut
across the green of everyday --
strumpets in tattered leafy skirts,
stiletto roots -- bestowing downy favors
on the summer breeze.
Funny. . .  We call these lusty ladies "weeds"
and save "flower" for what's just hard to grow. 
                                                Published in Your Daily Poem, July 10, 2016


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