Weeding in the time of Covid-19

Gardening glove holds weed.

Weeding my garden
and thinking of friends I can't see.

Lily of the Valley, I adore your sweet scent
but don't threaten the hydrangea bush
or the portulaca.

"This far and no farther,"
I tell my vigorous growers.

Morning glory you are glorious,
but not tangling the vinca.

And Vinca — you mass of darling blue faces —
no trailing over the pavers!

I dig and pull and toss into my bucket
leaf tips delicately descending to points
and their tough white roots.

Feathery inch-tall fans of Queen Anne's Lace
I banish to the brush pile.
Your monstrous mothers almost killed my roses last year.

Ivy and I have no conversation at all
as I rip and tear and hurl
except a grudging, "Thank you" for choking out weeds.

I did not mean to break off these froths of fern.
I hope I did not alienate my friend
who wants to socialize with no mask.