An ode to the South's beloved but incredibly invasive Kudzu vine

Our quaint kudzu vines
at first seem benign
but quickly entwine
whatever they find.


They blanket the ground
each gully and mound,
the streetlights they crown
and billboards surround.


On telephone wires
they grow like wildfire,
‘cross rooftops and higher
to wrap the church spire.


Your backyard, once trimmed,
is covered with them;
the kid’s jungle gym,
jacuzzi’s condemned.


You vow their demise,
pull on your levis,
untangle, untie
and spray herbicide.


You hack at the mess
like a man possessed
but lay down to rest,
they’ll grow ‘cross your chest.


Alien monsters
must be their sponsors;
seeds sown to conquer
from flying saucers.


Perhaps we should go
along with the flow;
accept kudzu’s role
as art alfresco.


And smile, tho chagrinned,
these vines don’t begin
to ravage our skin,
like their kin– poison ivy!