Oh, what they’ve done!
Those branches once had their height,
plucked the power lines for warping chords,
tickled the tops of passing double-deckers,
housed the tethered shoes, tied and tossed.
They used to pull the morning blinds,
shelter starlings and sparrows lost.

Post-op, you’ve been left cold,
bare naked bark bitten by chill,
skinny and shamed
against your will,
arms stumped and thin,
topped with tight clenched fists
as if to say
“If we had it our way!”