Francis Mandeville Poet Prose Poetry

War on Thistle

A yellow notice on the gate with bold letterhead states
Noxious Weed Commission and then, in smaller red print, declares: 
Demand Notice to Remove Thistle.

This notice is a sudden smack behind the noggin. 
Bringing attention to a purple, spiky blossom 
on top of an orb wound tightly around a ball of seeds, 
swaying in the breeze and heeding this question:
What did you do?

To make the County use its bureaucratic might 
and declare thistle plants a blight, a public nuisance 
worthy of persecution.  And any resistance will cause 
an appearance before a judge who'll levy 
fines and imprisonment.
What did you do?

Shock begins to wane and reason filters into the brain;
this thistle, that goats devour like its a treat,
it explodes into a cotton suite that birds 
use to build a soft nest and squirrels 
a cozy den for all their kin.

Is this order just about the plants by the gate,
or does it include plants used by bees, 
or the plants that help pollinate veggies?  
Or the pretty blue thistle splashing color
in an otherwise rather dull foliage -
do those count too?

The notice drifts off into the finer print of legalese
using words like must, subject to, and other decrees
and then it ends with this call to arms - Declare War On Thistle! 
But whose side am I on?  And, when I am in jail,
will I get my thistle tea?

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