There is a tree on the street corner
all twisted and stunted and ugly
sitting on an empty lot surrounded by
hot asphalt and car horns.
But every year at Christmas
it is strung up with lights,
and in February
it is given one lone, glittering heart.
I see it on my way to the cafe
after a drunken night of revelry
and I wonder
who on earth would decorate
this lonely dead tree
in this dead little town?
I stole a pen in order to write all this down
and despite all that effort I left my little poem
on a table in a cafe.
I struggle to recapture my words again
It's much harder when you're sober.
I am obsessed with that tree on the street corner
twisted and stunted and beautiful.