The King of France

 

 

I leave so many stones unturned

to encourage my garden

let it grow without a hoe

ideas, loans and pardons. 

Maybe it will burst forth soon

or maybe die next week

nature does not swaddle it

and I will hear it speak.

Weeds! Let's talk about the stalks

wild flowers, stringy stuff,

prickles, little things about

let's mention all the puff.

Over there next to my tent

underneath her shutters

where you see the water hose

Max's house, bedding, gutters.

Where the broken mirror hangs

awkward against the tree

where you see my shaving kit

You see the plant there?

Weeds?!!

The mother of all growth it is

the fairy in my tree

the blossom in my pants

before the age of drink got me.

Weeds are manicured by rain

and I'm the King of France

the queen is held

Refrigerant. Electrical. Tyrants!

She speaks from shuttered balcony

it opens! Take a knee.

Yes, my lady, mail secured.

I will now make your tea.

You must go your time is up

mine will never end

50 years is just one day

each night she sings again.