It's a common sight,
like a burnt out car,
this burnt out tree.
But this one strikes me,
coming on it as I have,
round the back
of the Kwik Save in Rise Park
where it scratches at the sky
from its corner by the foot path.
A silver birch,
burnt then chopped at with an axe,
still looking a bit
like a silver birch.
Around its hacked at base,
there's bricks and Stinking Nanny,
a bit of folded-over roofing felt,
the usual bottles.
Like a silver birch
but pointed
where branches have been
burnt then sharpened by rain
It has dignity,
like those huge dead oaks
around Edwinstowe
or those pictures
of blasted trees from
world war one,
only this one never did get big,
and was always Council.
I'm staring hard at it
almost believing,
if I come back in spring
it'll still be here
in leaf.
© Rosie Garner |
