“They nuked it!”
The botanist told me
referring to a strip of land by the highway.
Nothing stood green after the blast.
And why?
Because they had to plant trees.
In a grid
with big machines and few hands
To make the roadside pretty.
The year of the poem is finished, now it is the year for the protocol! Read about the misadventures of a plant scientist trying to make sense of photorespiration one mutant at a time.
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