Property Value

The yellow is gone, just a soot-colored disc

that I left in the garden at my own risk.

The neighbor left a note on the door

saying my yard is becoming a chore.

I hacked at the stem with a pair of rusty shears,

the kind of labor that usually ends in tears.

Sticky white sap got all over my cuff,

proving that looking pretty isn't enough.

The head hit the dirt like a broken showerhead,

heavy with seeds that are already dead.

I wiped my hands on my jeans and went back inside,

with nowhere left for the beetles to hide.