It's Still Life

That Old Chestnut

It’s still gnarly-bare,
no leaves yet
on that old chestnut tree.

It’s old.
It’s arbitrary.
Bang-bang out of order,

like a belligerent judge,
a rigid thought growing where
nothing near it is its equal.

There’s nothing symmetrical about it.
Hit by lightning years ago.
Blew sprinters and branches about
as if hit by God’s own fist.

But that tree’s dying.
Slowly.
Bleeding
from its sores and cankers,

and I watch its annual struggle
as if my own life depends on it.

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Photo by Pascal Dihé on Unsplash. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting #apoemaday #trees on Twitter