The fence, overtaken,
ornamentals gone wild,
remnants of seeds
eaten by birds,
nuts stored by squirrels,
forgotten. Each year
I put up a good fight,
pull, prune and lop
but every year the enemy
is back, bigger and badder, 
hanging tight with twisted
tentacles, choking
the chain link, laughing
at my feeble atempts
at control.

I hate to resort to chemical warfare
but maybe it’s time
for an old-fashioned round-up.