this yard is a disgrace weeds propelled by their own inner trajectories want to grab more sky snails have left silver highways lemons fall and squash like faces against the driveway everything green moves to fill cracks in the cement are an open invitation the pepper tree has thrown out its branches like a diva embracing applause the woman in her almost black suit her linen face creased against the anarchy  this yard is a disgrace   she says  poison  she says whippersnipper  she says secateurs  she says she doesn’t understand five years the garden and I have grown green and surly together she doesn’t understand my father in a faded deckchair on a blonde and blue day lost in the shadows of leaves  as long as nothing’s dead   I say  as long as nothing’s dead   her mouth is a red tremor she can tell
I mean it.