mourning for grass

i knew they would do it
i knew it couldn’t last long

the small savannah along the curb
my passengers had to traverse
to get into my car
wild grasses grown waist-high
persistent through the chill of winter

yellowed stalks
hacked away
i wonder if they used
poison or just
went mad
with a weedwhacker

it couldn’t last, of course
most wild things do not last long
in the city