To Cut Down An Aged Thing

It’s the surgeons this week,
hacking their way down
Victoria Street. A job,
one that requires skill,
precision, no doubt,
and these few carve
through the branches
as easy as cake, with no
pause to wipe the sweat,
no tea or coffee break.

Who am I to say anything?
To cut down a tree, fifty years old
with such speed and ease.
With a swift kick, and gravity
on my side, doing most of the work,
I swung my boot and split a stalagmite
in a Somerset cave, sent the thing rolling
and bouncing into a puddle, pooled over
centuries, gathered by the annual drip,
let the cymbal crash rupture
and rip the silent depths.

I thought nothing of it.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s