There must be
someone out there making money
off this peachy
currency of green leaves, sweeping
broadcasts on the popular
breeze.
Surely, verdant
makes a nifty buzz-
word for new keenness of
grassblades growing ever greener—sharper
fodder for higher
definition.
Even dirt-
anointed clumps of
rebel clover seem to swell
for want of snappy slogans—one nation
under oaks—and each exploits
in me a lightness,
too unsubtle to have come unbottled,
too unbridled
not to flow—a rushing
cache of advertisements,
brought to you by
everywhere—oh can't you just
smell it
in the fair-
traded pearblossom air?
