short poem

There are the fronds again
Flimsy green knives
Commanded by the wind . . .
Or do they know how to dance?
Without rhythm
And like no one is watching.
No one is watching.
I needed it
In Florida
Most trees, dead and rigid like fossils on the sky
Infested with swarming squirrels, no one asking why
In Florida
Relentless flow of cars
East and West go the kids at play.
Smoke white climbs from the cylinder grey
In Florida.
And I close my eyes
Tightly and gently enough
Like the palm fronds
Listening to
the chimes of the naked air.

Palm frond trees
Unique to Florida, no?
My palms will cut you if you come too close
They do not hesitate.
Do not take offence
My actions are merely the result of adaptive survival trends specific to Florida.
My palms may just as well shade you and keep you cool
Keep the sun from burning you to ash
If you kneel at my feet, sacrifice your soul
At the trunk of the palm frond tree.
This too
Bores from the necessity to fit in.
If I could I would provide shade for all existing things
But my trunk is solid, stationary
And people are always moving
In and out of Florida
Always waving their palm fronds wildly
Always making others obey
Always, always, always.



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