To My Left, A Fencepost
Well, I wrote this in a memo on my phone in the car today, so it's just a short poem.
To my left, a fencepost
And to my right, a tree.
A disconcerting slaughter:
"A" massacred for "B."
So then resurgent musings
Return to be reused-
To think of something precious
Being callously abused.
Perhaps it's overthinking.
Perhaps it's only me.
But I can't seem to stop thinking
Of the fate of that symbolic tree.
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