Angry Trees

The leaves hang glossy
Gray-green like they are ill.
The branches writhe—
Stop, stop they say.
We cannot eat your poison
Swallowing swill
With tentacle fingers, roots
You are making us sick.

It is like we are small boys
And you have tied us into
Black reclining chairs for
A medical experiment.
We are pale and afraid.
There is a tube hanging
Over our mouths, and
We must drink down
The acid sludge of
Your industrial waste.
Our bellies are burning.
You are making us so sick.

We wish in our slow way
That we could bind you with our roots
Our branches, make you
Consume your own refuse,
And see how you like it.
But we are slowlife and
You are so fast
Darting past with your chemicals
Your chainsaws, your trucks
Filled with stinking garbage;
And our underground hands
Cannot snare you.

You murder our children
Distill our blood to pour on pancakes
Chop off our limbs to burn.
You torture us slowly
Cut through each sinew
One by one. And yet you
Cannot hear our slow, slow,
Screams. You turn us into ashes.
You make me sick.

Is it too much that we take up
Some space on your planet?
It used to be all ours, you know.
We used to stretch on for miles
Standing quietly together
Whispering every now and then in the wind.
We followed the rhythm of the seasons,
Gave you and our mother oxygen.
Even then we breathed in waste
And breathed out cleanliness—
But this is too much.
We cannot clean up all your
Little-child mess. You are so young,
So stupid and cruel. We cannot keep
Drinking forever. Maybe you cannot count on us.
We keep you alive and you just
Make us sick.





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