Tufts, follicles, grubstake
biennial rosettes, a low-
life beach-blond scruff of
couch grass: notwithstanding
the interglinting dregs

of wholesale upheaval and
dismemberment, weeds do not
hesitate, the wheeling
rise of the ailanthus halts
at nothing—and look! here’s

a pokeweed, sprung up from seed
dropped by some vagrant, that’s
seized a foothold: a magenta-
girdered bower, gazebo twirls
of blossom rounding into

raw-buttoned, garnet-rodded
fruit one more wayfarer
perhaps may salvage from
the season’s frittering,
the annual wreckage.

Analysis, meaning and summary of Amy Clampitt's poem Vacant Lot With Pokeweed

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