‘Not much one can do about that’
To the Expositor:
Invasive species
Tropical phragmites, moving north,
Far from the place that gave them birth
Another foreigner on the shore,
Another stranger to abhor,
This one in search of a comfort zone
While weather wreaks havoc with his home.
Not much one can do about that.
Escaping man-made
devastations,
The migrants come from many nations.
And like these plants, tall and proud reeds,
They are considered just as weeds
Who drift ashore, looking for freebies,
An alien, invading species.
Not much one can do about that.
The weeds, like those poor sods, are us,
The creator’s own Forget-me-nots.
The winds of change may well portend
The Master Species’ own sad end.
If you can’t force it, or
otherwise will it,
The only solution: You must kill it.
Not much one can do about that.
Helga Reilly
Mindemoya
