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Out in
the back
yard just now
facing me was
a shooting bamboo
too near the house
and so it went.
At play
without working
being the godner then
cutting, without much mercy,
the shoot down as it were
springing up.
Noticed the type of bamboo.
If a name knead be given,
I'd call it, Invasive.
Now removing its outer layers,
seeking what lived within,
carving and cutting,
separating this from that.
Yes! Very tasty.
Not bad at all.
Tender shoot.
Innocent.
And yet,
determined
to be unwanted.
What's that?
Is it a bitter taste?
I'll try another piece.
Cut off another slice.
Perhaps it is the outer
leaves which leave that taste.
And that which is within
is neither here nor there.
Another type was found as well.
Ore, perhaps it was the same.
Rooted deeper in the bushes weeded.
Tall and thin, with its leaves extended.
Reaching out, caught my attention.
Now, it too, having been cut,
is, yet is not, separated from all else.
I don't mind them, really, not too much.
Down below, in the south forty
yards of our yard, they thrive.
Or, perhaps there is only one,
and it is not a they, beneath
the surface of the ground.
All the roots may be connected
and what appears above as many
appears, from another angle, as not really.
I wonder, at times,
if our small jungle is a forest
for it gives me rest and yet,
what for, is more what I give it,
when it becomes too invasive
and a mind within me is made up.
Then its roots are sought,
and its shoots removed.
I eat them.
Yes. In various ways.
As they please me.