Desember Forest

December Forest.


I have a photo that has no colour, of
a forest and a black wet road rolled out
as waiting for a presidential visit, that
will never come, trees have no vote.

This is not an old forest, the trees, are
winter dark with snow on, those near
the road, look like gangling youngsters
grumpy by enforced idleness;

but there is a hidden passion, snow has
thawed around the trunks, intense root
touching and sometimes unwelcome
groping is going on.

It isn’t easy to be a tree, if one happens to
be placed amongst siblings, and its roots
can’t touch a loved one, across the road,
the future must be bleak indeed

A tree can take comfort in its versatility
It can be pulped and made into voting
slips or made into paper on which poems
are written. And you call that solace?