What Is A Weed? (For Aldo)

i’m not too keen on yardwork
but i am strong in my own way,
mowing strips in my little lawn
with a silent manual mower
the fallen leaves into large paper
bags that the city picks up on
sometimes the older male neighbors
will give me advice for a purer lawn
the unholy mob of broad-leafed plants
for something to be vanquished – oh no
not here!
how else could the barely blushing fleabane
eavesdrop, their heads resting on windowsills
my hands as i set the table for dinner
laughing at the men who fear
us weeds?