Ratty old spruce

As you arrive at the foot of our cottage steps
(Hopefully bearing an awesome arrray of goodies)
Your way is arrested at least temporarily
By a ratty old spruce that stands crowding the stairs
Like an indigent old panhandler hustling for change.
You can’t get by without wrestling with it.
Don’t try to avert your eyes: it’s in your face;
It won’t go away. It was planted there for us
By a Mohawk neighbour who thought a pair
Of trees flanking the front door would give
The place some class. Fortunately, one died.
When it was a young indigent panhandler,
I couldn’t rip it out or call the cops because
I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Now he
Never comes by, spends his time sitting in
A nursing home, spinning exciting yarns for the
Unexcitable. I wish I could tear it out,
Cut it down, call the cops, but I can’t.
It’s our ratty old spruce.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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