bombus alights on
morning glory, blossoming
above rotting trash
the vines extend their
tentacles upward, fighting
to pull down phone lines
the purple trumpets
sound a silent clarion
for reinforcements
the untamed backyard
grasses respond to the call,
overthrowing the fence
somewhere, a mower
rusts in the shadows while birds
and vermin rejoice.
Sean M. Gallagher 