weed philosophy

by the roots, you say,
but sometimes the roots
are impossible to get at

or they’ve spread immeasurable
tendrils in countless directions
so that even when pulled,

pioneers still bust the sod
and burst in yellow jeers
at all my efforts

may as well give in
(nature always wins)
and call that weed a wildflower

© Sarah Whiteley

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an exuberant tail

it kills me
(in the sweetest way)
that she has learned
the sound of the alarm
in the morning means
she can again be loved

and always
the first battle
of my day is one waged
with doggish laughter
wherein I fall casualty
to an exuberant tail

© Sarah Whiteley

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