My yukka plant is happy.
It has taken my central heating
for Central America.

It believes my lava lamp
to be a visitation
from a tropical sun god.

It grows confidently,
strong in the belief
that my irratic pattern of watering
is consistent with flash flooding.

My yukka plant is happy
high above it’s carpet plane
with the TV setting in the evening
and the car birds calling
beyond it’s canopy.

My ivy plant,
hangs it’s leaves
along the bookcase.

It tells my yukka
it is just a yuka.

But my yuka does not listen.
It knows that the ivy is mad.