The Resistance is Green

by Aaron Conklin

Decrepit buildings strangled with ivy,
crestfallen roofs penetrated by water,
saturating then drying, corroding plaster ceilings,
and softening interior wood to rot.
I welcome the ruin of civilization’s structures,
I secretly applaud the falling of the rain.

Foundation walls eventually surrender
to the obsolete encumbrance of their impermanence,
Man’s impenetrable fortresses subsiding to a verdant victory.
I silently admire the persistent erosion of the metropolis.

Sidewalks fractured by tempered roots writhing beneath the concrete,
Tendrils of grass penetrating the undulant fissures of disintegrating driveways.
The vacant lot’s asphalt is crumbling,
amassing rainwater, and birthing vengeful vegetation.

With a burlap sack slung over my shoulder,
I herald the resistance with showering handfuls of seeds,
sown as they are thrown and sprinkled upon the soil,
I celebrate the patient revolution of the weeds.