Marvin Snell Poet Free verse

The Backyard Takeover

This morning I noticed the fence leaning,
a tired spine under the weight of years,
its wooden slats splintered, soft as my knees
after too many trips up the attic stairs.
The body, I mean, not the house—though both
seem to sag in the same quiet defeat.

But look at the yard: crabgrass and clover
have staged a coup, their green fists punching
through cracks in the patio’s old concrete.
Ants march in neat rows, claiming the crumbs
of my breakfast left on the wicker chair.
Nature doesn’t care about my stiff joints.

I tried to pull a dandelion once,
thinking I could tame the chaos with a tug.
It snapped, left roots grinning underground,
as if to say, We were here first.
My heart, that old pump, skips a beat or two,
while the weeds write their novel in the dirt.

I sit by the window, counting my aches,
each one a plot point in a story I’d rather
not read. Yet the vines keep climbing the shed,
their leaves a bright defiance against rust.
Maybe that’s the trick—not to fight the green,
but to let it grow, wild, over my bones.

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