Wallace Counts Leaves

Up to now all poems from The Wallace Variations, were written years ago, but i have been writing new ones, here is a new one.

 

Wallace Counts Leaves

i.

There are not enough leaves on
this tree— I counted, it’s short.

It is mid-summer,
a few days after solstice.

Tree blown into ragged perms,
all the trees, old dames

with enough moppets to breed
a nation of hard-thinking,

quick-talking cosmopolitans.
Nations, bunked in ideals, stuck

in a lock of time they idolize
as ratio of themselves.

ii.

Cheap souvenirs in expensive
gift shops, wrapped in cellophane.

The internet abolished distances
better than telephones
,

though they live comfortably
side by side— you can touch

other cultures with the tips
of your fingers, even nomads.

So why does everything
keep separating at such

tremendous speeds, like
the Hollandaise left on the hob.

4 Comments Add yours

  1. kvennarad says:

    You’ve heard about these people who go round taking just one leaf from every tree they pass? For reasons of their own?

    1. i’d slap his hand if he took any, but i know he’d never do such a thing. “Leave ’em be, they’re tasked to their bole as we are tasked to ours”.

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