Lion’s Tooth

June 17 2011

The lawn has been colonized by dandelions.

The imperialists

of the vegetable world,

who arrived here from Europe

and never went home.

Even the name is imposed

from the mother country,

a corruption of dent de lion, or lion’s tooth

for their sharp serrated leaves.

They are dazzling in spring

with tight succulent flowers  —

bright yellow polka-dots

sprinkled across

a lush green lawn.

But by now, they are gaunt and leggy,

cute kindergarten kids

who suddenly sprung up

into sullen adolescents.

With thick tenacious roots

and purple stems,

and seedy heads, pale as death,

that seem alien

metastatic.

Like us, they are opportunistic,

filling vacant spaces

finding cracks in pavement,

frugally extracting

the last stray bit of sun.

They grow big,

are indiscriminate

in procreation,

until the last square inch

of the planet

is taken up.

They live on light and air,

thrive

in the driest land.

So we don’t stand a chance.

Like cockroaches, and plutonium

the dandelion

will not only outlast

our lovingly manicured grass,

but us.