Honeysuckle

When Japanese honeysuckle seeds
shine red on wrinkled branches
the suburban host families
unknowingly take their chances.
Focused on lawn, not leaves;
focused on flowers, not bees;
the only non-natives they mind
are humans, not trees.

Our farmers' market Markov chains
are bare root saplings under heavy rains
that wash the gullies dry in Spring.
The fertilizer run-off changes
water pH and dilution ranges
so we stick the farmers with the blame
but demand cheap eggs, and milk, and grain.
Farmers, you must forgive us, please,
we know only government subsidies.

And they shouldn't fault you
because plants did what plants do.
If your new soybeans
have patented genes
you better learn legalese
or get down on your knees
and surrender your crops.
Because cross-pollination
from the farmlands adjacent
creates your obligation
to the seed corporations.
You're growing their seeds
whether you bought them or not.

But the GMO scare
only helps them not care.
They continue their science
despite the public's defiance
because the farmers are reliant
on the products they've provided.
The organic assault, with all of its might,
is susceptible too, to insects and blight.
The farmers can't risk it,
their assets too viscous,
so they feign unaware
of the public's concerns,
they're just staying prepared
for when we need what they've learned.