AUTUMN WEEDS

         They’re mocking me. I know they’re mocking me, there behind that curtain, yet here I stand again, cowering in front of my living room window. I’m afraid to pull back the curtain and look outside because I know I’ll fly into an herbicidal rage. I’ll want to sprint outside, circle around in a panic, and try to rip every one of the little green monsters out by the roots. But there are too many. There are far too many so I think I’ll just stay here, behind the curtain.
         I have no more trees in my yard to comfort me. They’re all dead now. There are no babbling water features or stilted pink flamingoes to distract me, just a featureless sea of innocent grass under assault by the prolific little invaders. If only the high and mighty down at the town hall would let me launch a counter attack. What I want to do is flood my lawn in a great sea of Killex® and paddle across it in victory like George Washington. I’d listen to the little bastards plea for help and then I’d shriek "Sorry little fellas! No room in this boat!"
         But, that won’t happen. There’ll be no chemical sea because I’ll dutifully obey the law. I’ll fall asleep tonight and dream of dandelions. It won’t be the ones that delighted me as a child, when a gentle puff launched the beautifully delicate seeds each on its own grand adventure. I’ll dream, instead, of a miniature army of paratroopers poised to attack whenever the wind belches its foul orders.
         I think I’ll just keep the curtain closed and try to take a nap instead. I’ll probably dream of dandelions, if I can sleep at all. Maybe I’ll try counting pink flamingoes.