Shirtsleeves buttoned,
ballooned: a billowing body
advertising The One Time Only,
Limited Edition necktie
made of leaves stitched
together with the silk-hair
of cornstalks. The shrubbery snobs
turn their pruned hedges, look
away, the shame of knowing
the bitter taste of mulch. Below,

grass fingers catch
the sun-smell dripping
from shift-cuffs. Wrinkles
etched into flesh
worn from picking dirt
for worms—a modest living
fades with the smooth licks
of lemon-scented
pollen drops. The weeds

have staged a protest by the wooden
fence, demanding access
to the other side of the lawn
where Shirt-Tail & Company
doesn’t leak chemicals into the
groundwater. Dandelion heads
spin to the sound of sirens—

cops circling the street looking
for the man who’s run away
with a pair of slacks.
The same old story: how the wind
got loose and never was caught.