The agave plant knows nothing.
The agave knows nothing of
Late nights
Bar fights
Tail lights
And custody rights
The agave knows nothing of
Bare necks
Bounced checks
Auto wrecks
And wild sex
It cannot know the use to which men put it.
It cannot know that it is to be made
An instrument of
Joy
Lust
Regret
And self-destruction
It knows only the cool deep earth around its roots
and the endless stretching upward toward the Mexican sun.
Bastard agave.
Read more poetry on The Good Life
—Photo credit: Zest-pk/Flickr