You’d think the blackberries would be easy to pluck.
Just step off the road, over some Olympic red white and blue
Soda and beer cans.
Poison ivy’s green leaves, shiny, ready to leave their itchy blisters.
Strands of barbed wire, electrified, ready to cut and stun.
Stone walls, piled high, edgy and steep.
Too hard, give up.
Settle for black-eyed Susan’s yellow and dark.
Take some ancient green ferns.
Pull the yellowed goldenrod, already browning, knowing autumn.
Bend for purple clover.
Yank puffy Queen Anne’s heads, and strands.
The berries will shrivel.
Your handful of flowers will, too ….
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, mid Aufust 2012