The tree is being cut down
it has no choice in the matter.
If someone is coming at you with an axe,
you can run away.
The tree has to stand there and take it.
The tree is rooted;
bound to that one spot;
there is no escape, none,
never was.
Do you ever wonder if
the tree feels the axe
cut into it?
Does it resonate through
the whole of the tree,
like it resonates through
me?
-
For some reason
I’ve been having to interact
with more homeless or panhandler types
than ever before.
I always wonder why they approach me
in the first place.
I guess it has something to do with
the perception of shared struggle
or something.
I’ll probably never figure it out,
but it could be something like that.
Regardless, it never lasts very long.
The dirtleg sees the guy on crutches as
some sort of kindred:
“Hey man, can you give me a couple of bucks,
so I can get my car going?”
“No sir, I can’t.
I don’t have any cash on me.”
(Actually, I have about $50 in my wallet)
“Okay, brother, thanks anyway.”
“Sorry, sir.”
(I just want to go home.)
{From a block away}
******* crippled ************
(I can still hear him.)
I imagine wiping his blood
off of my crutch before I get
in the car.
The engine turns over.
I drive home.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
The tree is being cut down
it has no choice in the matter.
If someone is coming at you with an axe,
you can run away.
The tree has to stand there and take it.
The tree is rooted;
bound to that one spot;
there is no escape, none,
never was.
Do you ever wonder if
the tree feels the axe
cut into it?
Does it resonate through
the whole of the tree,
like it resonates through
me?
-
For some reason
I’ve been having to interact
with more homeless or panhandler types
than ever before.
I always wonder why they approach me
in the first place.
I guess it has something to do with
the perception of shared struggle
or something.
I’ll probably never figure it out,
but it could be something like that.
Regardless, it never lasts very long.
The dirtleg sees the guy on crutches as
some sort of kindred:
“Hey man, can you give me a couple of bucks,
so I can get my car going?”
“No sir, I can’t.
I don’t have any cash on me.”
(Actually, I have about $50 in my wallet)
“Okay, brother, thanks anyway.”
“Sorry, sir.”
(I just want to go home.)
{From a block away}
******* crippled ************
(I can still hear him.)
I imagine wiping his blood
off of my crutch before I get
in the car.
The engine turns over.
I drive home.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016
More esoteric open hostility.
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