Whenever with you, Uncle Mick,

I’m as careful

as when applying Roundup

to my unruly greenery.

Fearful of upsetting you,

I never ask

about the vegetation in Vietnam.

My invaders—lush, the color

of grass—continue to grow,

spread. Things get lost

inside: flowers, dirt, lives.

What can bud in this?

Before I pump the sprayer,

aim the nozzle,

squeeze the trigger,

I gear up, as you once did

with your buddies:

nitrile gloves for my hands,

plastic goggles for my eyes.

Then I spray the intruders

until they’re soaked.

In a few days, they’ll brown,

then shrivel to their roots.

Do you tear up as well,

watching anything

leafy wither? I try not to kill

needlessly, recklessly.

Even so, there are occasions

when I itch, scratch.

My skin turns red, burns.

Is that what happened to yours?

Monsanto is to blame.

Originally from San Antonio, Texas, Jonathan Fletcher, a BIPOC neurodivergent writer, currently resides in New York City, where he is pursuing a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing in Poetry at Columbia University’s School of the Arts.  He has been published in Arts Alive San Antonio, The BeZine, BigCityLit, Clips and Pages, Colossus Press, Door Is A Jar, DoubleSpeak, Flora Fiction, FlowerSong Press, fws: a journal of literature & art, Half Hour to Kill, LONE STARS, MONO., Moot Point, The Nelligan Review, New Feathers, OneBlackBoyLikeThat Review, Otherwise Engaged Journal: A Literature and Arts Journal, riverSedge: A Journal of Art and Literature, Route 7 Review, Spoonie Press, Synkroniciti, Tabula Rasa Review, The Thing Itself, TEJASCOVIDO, Unlikely Stories Mark V, voicemail poems, Voices de la Luna, Waco WordFest, and Yearling: A Poetry Journal for Working Writers.  Additionally, his work has been shortlisted by Heimat Review and featured by The League of Women Voters of the San Antonio Area and at The Briscoe Western Art Museum.