I Keep Pulling at the Crabgrass and It Keeps Coming Back

I keep pulling at the crabgrass and it keeps coming back
Thought I'd tackle the patio today so I pried up a strangled brick
The sun was baking everything below the smoggy blue
"Hat be damned" I thought, I'll just yank a few

There's nothing so seductive as a half-discovered root
The sand was cool below the brick as my fingers found a tangle
It tensed a moment and then let go and I shook it in the air
The shoots were palid, succulent, jauntily alive
"Gotcha!" I said and threw them in the corner to dry out

A broken crabgrass segment peeked below the next-door brick
I got the shovel and wedged it in and worked it like a lever
My eyes were blurry but I could feel the weed hiding underneath
I pulled up the brick and there it spread in sand-eating glory
"No more!" I cried, annoyed by its spawning indifference

"Perhaps it's my fault. I laid this patio here," I thought, widening the hole
Now twenty bricks were scattered along with the satisfying clumps
I was making progress, sifting through the sand for remnants
A single cell can regrow the entire unit, that's what happens all the time

My hands are sore and my nails are dirty but I did good work today
I just kept going for six or seven hours and now that grass is gone
They say nothing matches its tenacity, nothing thrives better with neglect
I'll put the patio back in soon. I'll buy clean sand tomorrow.

I keep pulling at the crabgrass and it keeps coming back
I can match your energy, bud, I too thrive on drought alone
I don't know which crack will green up next.
But I've got a shovel and I'll be here my whole life long.

(c) 2007 by Alexandra L. Weber Morales