H e a r t S o n s & H e a r t D a u g h t e r s of A l l e n G i n s b e r g

N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 4 : A r c h i v e s E d i t i o n

BOB RIXON

Like A Weed

In the morning the crumbs were gone,

a dozen birds chirping in the tree

by the parking lot, a woman

yelling at her child to get ready

for school,

one truck after another

rattling as it hit the pothole

on the bridge, a beach towel

crumpled on the fire escape –

it had been there all winter.

A daffodil leaning in a plastic cup

on the kitchen table, plucked from

a patch of dirt by a fire hydrant

the night before.

[Originally published in NHS 2010, http://www.poetspath.com/napalm/nhs10/index.html.]