Leaves Three

"Leaves three, let it be."
—anonymous verse about poison ivy

That rarest thing, a useful poem,
had warned me of its danger,
its rhyming couplet telling me
to leave those shiny leaves alone.

But I touched it anyway,
thinking God had chosen me
above all others to be protected
from its burning.

It took another day before
I felt the itch and saw the
pustules rising on my knuckles
shining like the leaves
the poem had spoken of.

A rash as raw as if my fist
had punched a wall arose
to show that God would
not undo his laws of nature
just for me.

Forsaken by a useless god,
I find salvation now in writing
useless poems and in following
the lesson of that useful one:

Regard the world with care;
embrace it at your peril.
There's no one here to
save you but yourself.