How wrong for grass
to grow here,
how un-useful and ridiculous
as if mocking us
in our syllogisms of dust, dirt and mud.
In Victorian backyards
playing our kids’ games- arguments
in preparation for decay.
Our grubby little hands happily alive
clawing through rubble, hurling half-bricks.
Our outdoor world of muck and middens.
An uncared for land.
How wrong for hope.
I think mine came from comics.