I Wouldn't Trade a Tree

At the corner of the yard,
Moss hangs off the skeleton of an oak tree
Like the long stringy hair of an elderly woman.
It doesn’t afford a shade in the summer,
And the winds of spring
And the snows of winter
Ravage limbs from its hollow body.
I know I should cut it down.
I curse its existence the morning after a storm
As I pick up its pieces off the lawn—
A betrayal of beauty and a crime of circumstance
Because I remember that tree in its glory,
When two young squirrels rested in its branches.

Our Doppelgangers

It looks like we won’t be going to Georgia
For my birthday, and I understand why.
Because you are Edna,
Lighting your candle at both ends,
Taking life by the balls (or twat),
Pulling it towards you and giving it
The greatest thrill its ever known,
For just a moment.
And I will be Edmund,
Always searching for a poet
And a perfect set of legs,
But never again finding you.
It is this fate which is inevitable,
Just as is knowing you is to fall in love with you.
All I ask of you is this:
Please be careful around the stairs.