In my heart I know that it is a blight,
a poison to the young oaks
and rose bushes and grasses
and cliffsides along the highways,
a sweet-voiced crooner
with its hand on their throat,
but I am merely an elephant hawk moth,
selfish in where I feast, brown-pink swirls
of wings fluttering to the melody,
eyes for sugar and sugar alone,
whatever else passes for life
be absolutely goddamned.