Mulch

These thoughts are weeds:

coming up thick and fast,

spreading.

Pulling them takes all my time;

my hands are tired, worn, and cracked—

I need gloves and hand-lotion.

But I wanted a garden (damn-it!)

full of bright colors, fruit trees,

and vegetables in orderly rows;

each happily knowing their place

in soil and season.

So I keep digging,

adding to the pile

of uprooted and unwanted;

maybe someday

it will make good

mulch.