This is war - an all-out assault
waged on the denizens
who would dare defoliate
my dahlias, infest
my forsythia, munch
on my marigolds, ravage
my roses or blight my begonias.

Sitting under the green-striped umbrella,
like General Grant planning
the Siege of Vicksburg, I plot
their demise: aphids asphyxiated
with spray blast of soap
water, cutworms most certainly
cut off at the knees, gophers guillotined
by traps that are tripped and snails
slaughtered with sinister intent.

No deer dare show white flag
of surrender nor slug plead for mercy,
for none will be granted.
This garden has no court of appeal
and this gardener shall take no prisoners.

May 2000, written after a day of gardening