Our little taste of the wild
atop the cement and
asphalt north of Ventura Boulevard,
in the summer heat of the
San Fernando Valley.
An inflorescence of orange-yellow,
each a lancet basal,
stems slender and arcing,
carpeting the vacant lot near
the sweaty hum of Valencio’s Car Wash.
A breeze enhances their splendor,
incoming tide of old ivory hats
and long, cheerful, verdant legs.
Mustard is beautiful and native but,
when the eye approaches, street
loud and busy, you will see that it is
nothing more than a weed.
Papa, look at the beautiful flowers!
Yes, mijo, the flowers are gorgeous,
aren’t they?
Can we pick some?
No, no. I smile, thinking the word weed.
No, no. Let them stay in nature.
They’re happy there.