-Tangle of Ivy-

When did formicating vines,
their unrelenting hugs
and suckerroots
pall in our imaginations

to price cuts
and overlit mall floors?
A plastic mold
with five pushbutton
pow!action movements

may be a choking hazard
to tall children
under the age of hypnosis.
It only costs something
that ends in nine and looks small
like millions of chemicals
and the livelihood of
faraway folk
cents.

But it will never be as fun
as letting a slug beslime
Kelly’s arm when she’s
distracted and

the following guffaw-shrieking.
Somewhere we lost it,
the hours worth dirt digging.
And we switched to
touchscreens.

We no longer mind the vines,
what they strangle.
It actually looks kind of nice
there against the brick,
corroding.

There isn’t a victory.
General Tzo marching
and the toppling of a Wal.
No one has

decided. We only quiet.
Settle our bloodwort
in disinfectant.
And we go shopping.

The vines dream of us instead.