Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Poetry: Replacing a tree

A short, brittle, deciduous shrub,
Here when we bought the place,
Was finally winter killed.

I am no more a man who
Cuts down trees or digs large holes.
We bought an evergreen
And had it delivered and installed.

The man who came was
Nineteen Seventy itself,
Paper white beard and long hair,
Black wrap-around sunglasses;
My age, give or take a few.

In twenty minutes he was done,
Old tree gone, new spruce in place.
"I won't charge you for removal,"
He said. "Didn't take any time at all.
Take care, now."

When was the last time a man
Your own age made you feel old?
Copyright 2015, Joseph McConnell

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