Rogue Russets

Surprised by a frill of white flower

where I'd never planted an eye,

I decided to fence it with sticks

and let the renegade live

in undoctored soil where the garden

gave way to volunteer poplars

and acidic white pine. Why not?

After all, away from the tribe,

in clay where beetles drill

and weeds emerge inspired,

it might grow eccentric, proliferate

and thrive.

When autumn air

said disinter, to fill the bin

for winter, I troweled under

and pulled the stem

until a rabble of rough spuds

red as Etruscan urns emerged

as if to prove

that whatever urge drove

the rogue to sow itself and strive

beyond all cultivation

might offer a vital lesson

to any apostate instinct

aspiring to survive.