Sympathy for the weeds

You’re often beautiful
but overwhelm space,
showing up where you shouldn’t be:
corners, cracks, dreams.

You overgrow,
mocking ivy.
A lovely imposter
trickling across the yard
in need of thinning.

I pull you
from the beginning.
Your carrot lifeline
nubby and  tender.

It’s hard to tell
your potential.
Whether you would fool bugs
and protect the tomatoes.
Or give color
in times of need.

Or if your limbs would merely shrivel
to arthritic sticks
with red shoes.

But bourbon tells me
to toss you in the pile
where Christmas trees
rot festively.