What Doesn't Wait

It's bigger than last week.

Dandelion, or clover, or something

that doesn't need a name to survive.

The leaves are vivid green,

obscenely alive against the concrete.

The crack it's growing from

is maybe an eighth of an inch wide.

I've walked past this a hundred times.

Twice a day at least, the same sidewalk,

and I never stopped.

Until today.

Until it grew a new leaf

and I thought: this thing

doesn't need me to notice it to keep going.

This thing doesn't care

that I walk over it every morning,

that the city doesn't want it here,

that nothing invited it

to crack the concrete

and make this mess.

It just does.

It just keeps doing it,

green and stubborn and patient,

the way some things

refuse to disappear

no matter how hard

you try not to see them.