In the woods, unkind glances cascade down;

Corpses howl as they dangle from the trees.

Bored beasts run wild and roar at every pass;

Trespassers beg for life upon their knees.

The night-time tunes of childish thirst for blood

Make matters worse by willingness to please.

The rain drips through and drenches body parts,

As errant spouses plead outside and freeze.

Armed hunters shoot at anything that moves,

But only bring back prey for outsized fees.

The ghosts make law and hypnotize the crowd;

The police stay clear and postmen work in threes.

Ambition peels like bark and rots away,

Frustrated by the rustle and the tease.

 

From The Shape of the Trees  (Published January 2021)