This is for you, O plastic bags,

translucent beige and pearly-green,

caught up, netted in the bare treetops.

You’re the heralds of city Spring–

like those other harbingers

soon to come–the dandelions

bursting out of every sidewalk crevice.

Even as we know you’re ugly,

a defilement, and long to clean up

or weed out, something in me joys

in your boldness, your homeliness,

its wayward beauty. Tribe of truants,

ready to party, may you float free

over the dirty slush and the sparrows.