Johnny Milkweed

At the crack of noon on a sultry Junish Saturday

Jackson took his brushhog on a mission.

He would chop down all the weeds along the gravel way,

then hop into his truck and do some fishin’.

 

There were milkweeds growin’ there, he saw as he was mowin’.

With those butterflies orbiting like little orange bats. 

They spiraled and they banked, but still knew where they were goin’.

He doffed his cap and rubbed his forehead, wishing he could fly like that.

 

He walked back to the house. Julie saw that he was thinkin’

about all that green and orange Mother Nature woven tightly.

He told her ‘bout that mystic place, he swore he wasn’t drinkin’.

Just that on that spot, he thought, he should be treadin’ lightly.

 

Maybe you can go into Google. Okay. Press that ‘enter’ button,

usually works for me. Okay. You got it, then. You got it. Alright.

Al-right. Yer thinkin’ leave ‘em up? Alright!

 

So, why the hell, he thought, did he cut ‘em down before?

Jackson realized he could do better.

Those butterflies would have a place, he vowed and then he swore.

Committedly, he invested thought into the matter.

 

He was- Johnny- Johnny Milkweed!

Friend of the monarch butterfly!

Johnny- Johnny Milkweed!

Cause they’re pretty and they need a place, that’s why.

 

LOOKIT, JEWEL! She’s plantin’ eggs! What? Oh. Sorry.

(she’s plantin’ eggs, there. under the leaf…)

 

Jackson’s neighbors all around

said he’d taken a lawn vacation.

But all he’d done was trim the ground

and left a milkweed variation.

 

They could talk all they want on the assembly line.

And the yard inspectors, they could holler.

If he had to pay the county, fine.

They can’t have the weeds, but they could have his dollar.

 

‘Cause he was- Johnny- Johnny Milkweed!

Friend of the monarch butterfly!

Johnny- Johnny Milkweed!

A praise-deserving, weed-preserving guy.

 

There’s a little one, Jewel, and there’s a bigger one!

Munching. Wish I could see one hatching. Alright.

Al-right, I’ll come out here with a magnifying glass, then.

Sit here and watch ‘em hatch.

 

It was like he was ranching breath of life

by leaving something up and sleeping in.

Johnny Milkweed sat there with his wife.

And watched the kids, who pondered something wasn’t all plugged in.

 

It turned out that the mayor had an acre

of weeds of pollinator-helping class.

But Jackson was the one in all the papers

in his patch of weeds with his magnifying glass.

 

He was- Johnny- Johnny Milkweed!

Friend of the orange flutterbugs!

Johnny- Johnny Milkweed!

See how the ol’ boy mugs.

 

Look, Jewel! There’s a couple-a christmas, danglin’ off the leaves.

What? Huh. Nope, sorry. Can’t pronounce that. Christmas.

Like a whole new egg they make themselves. How-the-hell do they

do that?

 

They dried their wings and took the wind

saluting their milkweed garden.

Took off north, then south, and north again,

With their proto-GPS. Borders disregardin’.

 

For all their calm; busy and precise.

A generation morphs, a generation dies.

The details aren’t important, science fact belies.

Truth is, for Johnny Milkweed, they simply came back butterflies.