Weeds

Crouch down low, eye-level

to the lives being destroyed.

Don't yank, pull.

Slowly. Agonizngly. No anesthesia.

Roots emerge tangled and grasping. 

Fingers digging into the soil.

One knuckle at a time releases.

They see the light.

Spiderwebs delicate intricate

nearly invisible to the eye.

Ant nests chaotic peaceful

hidden from the sun.

They are gone. Gone with the weeds.

I stand up. Stretch. And choose

my victims carefully

killing to let my rosebush live.