March passed again,
and I did not trim back
the roses. They grow
lopsided and through
the porch railing,
prickly, blooming limbs
that brush the rocking
chairs. The lizards avoid
them, their heads periscopes
from ever-widening cracks
in the front porch. Paint
peels from railings I never
finished painting, and cats
watch it all from the living
room picture window.
Their noses streak the glass.
I understand the appeal
of curb appeal, but moved
here to avoid it. Now
Chip and Joanna Gaines
have infected the whole
neighborhood and Joe’s not
weird for obsessively
manicuring his rented lawn.
But I bet nobody else
on this block has volunteer
cucumbers maurading
the patch of garden they let
go wild this year. Isn’t that
a wonder: maurading
volunteer cucumbers!