Those giant birds of this paradise,
un-avian but drop their crap from above
just the same, in blotched sidewalk sticky stains.
Cropped up next to the potted ficus tree,
standing stunted and crouched, growing secrets,
roots rumpling the road, the earthworm escapes.
Under a coup of crows a murderous decree,
griping at gardeners, doing it wrong, in screams-not in song;
debating from up the pine tree, deciding fate over me.
Street-side Mexican fan palms, loitering all lined up,
doing the parka wave in the warm Santa Ana wind-
their ponytail fronds off to the side, flowing with Latina pride.
The asparagus fern wrapping around the bamboo reed
reminds me of a skinny girl, with a boa around her neck,
vegetating in creepy anonymity, slowly, in sensual proximity.
The mix and match, flourishing in this desert soiled patch-
strung along the same line as glorious grapes-the passion fruit vine,
takes over-zealous, rebellious wrath, where the wine was to grow.
All entwined, they never mind forced artistry molded in clay.
Sharing the little that is there, absorbing the disarray
that makes chaos, bloom better than any gardener could plot.
Image By Hardyplants at English Wikipedia (Own work) [Public domain], Giant Bird of Paradise via Wikimedia Commons.
