Bad Poetry: Spanish Needle

Another beautiful weekend was ruined by greedheads spraying poison, first along Route 58, then along Route 23. 

Last week I wrote a few poems from the point of view of something obviously unlike myself. I thought the ones about the hibiscus bush, the moth, and the possum might be "good" in the sense of taking the reader inside (what I imagine of) an alien consciousness. The one about the weed known as a Spanish Needle seemed to fall outside the plant's point of view. So on the terms of the prompt to which it was written, it's a failure.

What you need to know about Spanish Needles, if you've been lucky enough not to find it out already: They're native to the west of North America, where they compete with wheat. They invade the Eastern States when and as native plants have been destroyed by glyphosate. They're not a grass, although some call them a grass, but a particularly unattractive burr-weed with tiny leaves, long stems, and lots of sharp little "needles"; nevertheless they survive poisons that are meant to attack leafy plants and leave grass. As a result there are now massive crops of Spanish Needles in places where Black-Eyed Susans, daisies, wild sunflowers, and other pretty native wildflowers were deliberately planted thirty years ago. 

So...

I am a Spanish Needle, one of Earth’s most noxious weeds.
I don’t just cling, but stab and sting with my fishhook-barbed seeds.
I give the cows too much to chew and make the songbirds quiet,
And sprays that kill the daisies are my favorite sort of diet!

I’ll watch a farmer burn his fields to make me go away,
And pop up through the soot proclaiming, “Here I choose to stay.”
I am the Devil’s garden flower, here to cause you pain!
Just poison native plants, and I’ll pop up with the next rain.

I never had much chance to live in any Eastern State
Until some clever chap thought of inventing glyphosate.
This wonderful invention laid the competition flat.
Now all across America I form a prickly mat.

Oh the horsetail is quite harmless, some convolvuli are pretty—
That’s why they stand no chance when I set out to take a city.
I’m the sultan of corruption, lover of polluted soil.
I’ll flourish where all else breaks down to slag and tar and oil.

I’m a plant of spiteful character, completely lacking charm,
Quite unlike the poison ivy that reclaims bare slopes from harm,
Or the grass that feeds the cattle, or the nettle that makes thread.
I hate them one and all, and I’ll be glad when they’re all dead.

Oh look at me, you humans: you may not like what you see,
But when you spray your poisons on the land, you’re feeding me.
I’ll choke out all the clover, docks, and plantain while you wait.
I am the green embodiment of selfishness and hate.

Even if the worst consequence of using glyphosate were Spanish Needles, that'd be sufficient reason for banning it.