Choke
He’s a creeper, a hawk dropped snake that wraps
mother trees in ivy gripped with teeth of steel cutter,
dog bites into good wood gone bad then lets fall
curtain shades of green just this side of seasick.
Quaint couplings that look
good from a distance,
shortbread tin thatched
houses, costumed gear cogs
connect and drive until
one’s in one and fails to thrive,
grows bowed into something
more dead than alive.
She tried these years to
pluck it off but all came lost
in cancered coughs burrowed
deep, wept toxic liquid
from within, he crusts on coats,
digs skin circles,
slow in coagulating tears
of slithered mock turtles.
But then that day, his final choke and all was over,
one still tree stands less grand, in browning vines
undressed, caressed by rotten weeds she grieves,
catch hold his struggled thoughts in fallen leaves.
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