Ambrosia trifida

Back in Missouri
Some folks named them Horse Weeds,
Horsus weedus.
Most called them Ragweeds—
With a nasty tone;
Only the elite knew they were
Food for the gods.

Tall and thin
With big green hands,
Rough from too much sun,
They’d listen for hours
At complaints about the high price
Of bubblegum.
With voices like cicadas
And clicking grasshoppers,
They didn't say much.
And if the wind was just right,
You could catch a whiff of plant beer
On their breath.