A Retirement

A Retirement
It leafed out absentmindedly
this year, our junk maple.
A street planting from the fifties,
its branches bald and barren here and there,
though not alarmingly so—
just enough that you would notice,
if you were the kind who’d notice.
It will weather this year, I imagine,
and most likely the next,
but I worry about
our foreseeable future.
On this spot, a twig of a thing,
staked out against the bare breeze,
stands in the unshadowed sun
while from this old house, some
other someone will watch it grow.

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2 Responses to A Retirement

  1. The Commadore says:

    Beautifully put. I often look at the trees I have planted and while once passing by my old childhood home, no longer standing, note the big Red Oak is still there, not alone, but no longer shading the shabby old ranch house.
    I hope, all will outlast the humans that in most case ignore and abuse them.


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