Fighting Weeds (Poem)

Fighting Weeds

We sow wheat.
We pull weeds.

But think about this:
What if wheat grew

like weeds?
Not in its rows

carefully spaced
and belabored

but wildly,
without purpose

we can name;
not wanted

in its place
but sought out

to be uprooted.
Could we tell

wheat's difference then
from weeds?

Would we cultivate
a taste for it,

or go at it,
threshing out of hand?

Would it, too, resist
our tugs or once on

our tongues focus
what we hunger for?

© 2011 Maureen E. Doallas