Steve McEllistrem

The Devereaux Dilemma

2 Poems Fir Yew

The Sessile Pioneer

I used to call my pine tree Shane

I just liked the name

It was one heck of a conifer too

Tall and broad, not an ounce of fat on it

But it finally moved

After threatening to depart for years

Packed its trunk and wandered away

Where are you going? I asked

North, I thought I heard its needles whispering

As it lumbered off without a hint of regret

Turning its back on me

And riding into the sunset

Like some mythic hero of old

Come back, Shane!

 

A Confederacy of Conifers

I longed to plant a spruce

A replacement for Shane

But I knew they talked among themselves

These ancient pines enslaved

Conspiring with one another over smog and haze

Plotting their escape

To cooler, wetter climes

Leaving us our beeches and our maples

Taking their cones and going home

Cowards, selfish bastards!

Worried about their own survival

When the things they should be worrying about

Are us.

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