City Trees - Aug 18 2025

 

City Trees

Aug 18 2025

We stake out a shady spot,

sitting

under a tree

on dry compacted earth.

The others cross their legs, 

with effortless ease

turning into pretzels

of sweaty human flesh.

And me, as usual, the odd man out

who never could.  

I hide my difference well,

but find myself once again

not fitting in

and feeling ill at ease.

No one notices, of course

but when has that ever changed how I feel?

It’s not just us,

no one’s braving the sun.

The lush expanse of grass

where dogs should be running

frisbees slung

and baseballs tossed

is a wilted brown

with patches of hard dry soil,

abandoned

for any hint of shelter.

City trees

 — stressed, neglected, abused — 

get no respect.

We complain

about allergies,

raking leaves,

blocking out the sun.

Curse roots

persistent enough

to crack basement walls

invade waterlines.

I’ve heard they grow

toward the sound of moving water.

The secret life of trees,

eavesdropping

with theirs ears to the ground.

But still, we love the fall colours,

marvel at their majesty,

envy 

their grace and gravitas.

And in the park

on a scorching summer day

are grateful for their shelter.

My spot 

is some open ground

between two thick roots,

gnarly tentacles 

knuckling-up from the ground

and snaking out In all directions. 

Their tough outer layer 

   — hardened by wear 

and tested by weather —

is ominously reptilian,

a mosaic of scaly bark.

I imagine crocodiles cruising by, 

breaking the surface

with their knobbly heads and leathery backs,

black unblinking eyes

staring hungrily.

But here

leaning on a tree

legs stretched out in front

I have nothing to fear. 

Not sun. 

Not trees listening in.

And not flesh-eating animals 

lurking half-submerged.

And certainly not the minor difference

of straight instead of crossed

Safe

between a tree’s sturdy arms.