The lie I told my pre-homeowning self:
“I am above the American obsession
with lawncare. I will nurture the weeds,
let nature have the freedom
to decide its own landscape.”
I was young, progressive, thought
I was different
than this curating culture  

until today,
when I—consciously!—pledged allegiance
to the HOA:  

For beautiful for phallic blooms
Of hostas and blue sage  

I pitchforked black nightshade,
red nettle
like it was in my blood,
mulched them over
as if I had no idea  

their strength,
their adaptation to fight
the weedcloth to fight
me, weedcloth layer,
year after year
for this fresh
garden water.