| Jim Whelden |
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Woodness I have been watching the bush take shape. How it rushed into April flowering, its buttery beads strung on naked stems. I have been watching May spring up and out. These same stems thinly leafed. I see the bush now in June heave, gather girth, stuff itself with leaves. Molecules of wood bulge like carbuncles. You'd think they had the genes of millionaires who can't hold off grasping for billions. Their grossness infects all the bushes. They swell around me and mine. The lawn I call my own the walkways, the narrow lane the meterman has to have, these bushes swallow up as theirs. In my gnarled way I name them Norsemen, boasters and boozers. I gear myself Grendel, me and my Ma here is our home so will we warp out our orange serpent coil to crush them its jutting jaw fixed with flesh-tearing teeth. |
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