Night Weeding

In an effort to get myself out more in public

I joined my building's community garden,

and they assigned me weed duty to test my mettle.

But my sleep cycle has shifted again, I just can't help it,

and now I'm fast asleep from dawn till dusk,

so I weed at midnight, when no one is around.

It's hard work, and I'm as green as the garden is,

learning how to fletch my arrows as I go.

I weed silently by flashlight amid hoots and rustles,

a guidebook open in the chilly grass beside me

delineating which species I should pull from the long beds.

I grab trifoliate leaves and tug and tear,

plucking the hearty thistled vines from the stalks

of tomatoes, peas and beans, bell peppers.

Every day in the waning sun the pernicious plants grow back,

and every night I pull them up again,

tearing succulent white roots from the soil they carry on with.

Come on, I tell us both through gritted teeth,

Fraternizing is overrated.

Like a witch, I work from midnight till three,

pulling my coat closer and plucking and pulling.

In my zeal I tear out a few flowers sometimes,

but I'm still learning the trade, and I've no complaints yet.

Two hours before sun-up, I dust my hands off, return inside

and mouse off to bed with dirt under my fingernails.

Lord, what a difficult life this is, sometimes.

Author's Note

Published in Plainsongs, November 2025 (print only)