Housebroken

 

The houseplant leaves the room. It twirls a leaf

Around the door to see who's coming. Green

The grass outside the window. What it's seen

Of vegetation grown and come to grief

At mowers' hands is not to be believed.

The ficus argues, "Leave a leaf deceived.

No one who's known is better off." But Phil-

Odendron needs to know. He snakes the hall,

Heads for the door. He gets there by the fall.

The frost has stolen all the chlorophyll;

He dies upon the jamb, cold and enlightened.

The leaves lie blown in stacks, then wet, then whitened.

I feel a moral coming on. The sun

Will give us back our green. Out of the mire

Come kudzu with the energy of fire

And clover till the field is overrun.

There will be philodendron by the dozens

In music rooms. But not him. Just his cousins.

Men are like fish, you say. There'll always be

Another in a minute. I have no

Idea, but, Filly, if you let me go,

There will be more, but never more of me.

The dying plants are rich in latter plants;

But Philodendron gets no second chance.