What odd cold curses this July day,
Hundreds of years, never before 70,
In every way curses and blessings are the same anyhow,
Might as well celebrate the dull tint that’s seen from my stoop,
Nature must know how we plan to improve it,
Cut out its mistakes,
Away with dying bushes that hurt our artificial foundation,
We shall rectify what we see as beautiful by isolating it in lavender window boxes,
And plastic pots that sit elevated,
Far enough from the Earth so that it will be regulated,
And properly distanced from all dirt
Exceeding a depth of six inches and a radius of four
-Which has been deemed an appropriate amount
For any roots that fill plastic and clay bowels-

Too will be learned there are right and wrong places for chipmunks
And harmless traps will end there chirping and clicking from beneath my front door,
They should know how far they belong
From the civilized structures of our society,
That all that can’t be cut, predicted, or contained
has no home with us and our right angles,

So blow cool October wind
And remind us whenever you like
Of your sick disappointed approval,
We will monitor every leaf that falls onto our unchanging lawn,
And we will take you and yours and find a window box for it every time,
This July we will take any blessing,
Any curse.