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Ironweeds
a poem about ironweeds
Ironweeds in a vacant lot defying
the hard places of dry clay already
turning to dust and blowing in fine
half-hearted sheets for a few inches and
then spilling back to regain whatever strength
was lost in the crevices of cracked sidewalks
to be packed down by the steps of strangers
on their way past dark doorways held
open by the smell of decay left from worthless
furniture long since put out on the curb
and taken away by bulky figures in the early
morning riding the back of a truck that groans
under its burden of things no longer wanted
that will be shoveled in great piles
of earth turned over and over itself
like the restless sleep of some
creature tangled in the
night vines of the jungle
__________
Copyright 1989 Marguerite Floyd all rights reserved
This poem first appeared in ACE, October 1989
