The first of the year’s bazillion morning glory seedlings have just popped up in my garden. To celebrate my love-hate relationship with this weed in my garden, I’m posting my little ode to the odious. Enjoy.
by Helen Battersby
The gate-crashing has begun.
They’re prying cloven-footed
through the gaps, glad-handing all
invited guests, twining them
with drunken arms. Roses try
to shy away, cone flowers glare.
Impervious to snubs, they
trumpet their party horns and
rollick to the highest station.
Only the sun can shut them up.
But not without a final round,
twisting their lips into a damp,
defiant choir of raspberries.