poem

Infested

Backyard lined with dying trees, 

The lifeblood sucked out, devoured

By the bronze birch borer disease.

The leaves don’t come

Anymore and the shade they cast

Is no longer the blue cooling canopy;

Stick-like slashes of black

Hatchings across the grass.

The storms come, strong winds

Snap the distressed branches.

I am left to fetch fallen 

Fragments, pieces, alone, the next day.

Piles and piles of rotted brokenness

Stacked to dry out in future suns;

Kindling for an indeterminate blaze.

Now is the time to thicken your bark,

Reinforce the shields that have thinned.

You can’t afford to look away or yield;

Even the smallest things can get under your skin.

4/10/20