Control Poem by Mary Champion

You never could cope with anything that grew
more than knee high -
shrubs and trees,
hopes and dreams,
anything that might outstrip you,
spread its wings,
bring too much unbridled delight -
however briefly.

You had to cut it down
dampen the dreams,
prune the plants,
halter the hope.

My precious jasmine plant,
those pretty yellow flowers by the back fence
and today -
my apricot tree -
the one I grew from a stone,
nurtured for over twenty years -
something else that got too big for its boots
and threatened your desperately ordered world.

And finally
you set your restless sights on this -
my tiny wildflower meadow -
too unruly,
too untidy
might upset the neighbours -
a micro-dot of ground - partially surrendered to nature,
a small breathing space for a beleaguered planet,
where bees and butterflies gathered in summer.
Such wildness cannot be tolerated.
It might grow
and we know …

ALL GROWTH IS CANCEROUS!