Ode to Bermuda Grass
Long, trailing vines.
Rooting indiscriminately
among the fescue.
Shoots of seed
waiting to be blown in the wind.
Your ugly blades growing
all directions.
You trail like a snake
along the cement and dirt.
Why can't you be pretty
like the tall, staunch fescue?
It grows and stays
where it was planted.
So soft and orderly,
not haphazard and gnarly.
Bermuda, go away.