Weeds

Weeds

Growing just where I struggle, they thrive,
taking some of the water intended for me.

One day I will be a tomato, and damn it,
this ____ is drawing from me something I want.
I curse the wind, Mother Nature, and even God.
Must I befriend meanwhile, this vagrant?
Usurper of my moisture, squatter of my ground.

I longed for cleaner landings, says the weed.
Why must I share my thirst with a peasant?
Common vegetable. Good for nothing but the
table of a beast.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2011 --