Felling the Tree

Today my eyes teared over
as they bulldozed the tree
in the undeveloped lot next door.

It had to be cut.
A house was being built there and
aside from the trash it dropped,
It blocked the view.

Always the one to get his point across,
“I’ll tell you what,”
the contractor said,
“I’ll dig it up and plant it in your yard.”

But I didn’t want the mess of it, either.
I wanted the tree next door
where I could see it
without  dealing
with the fluff in my pool,
the pods falling off.

That tree was a resting place for  birds
which I said good by to
along with the tree.
Then, while I was at it,
I said good by to my cat
who had drowned in the pool
a week before.

Good by to my husband
who had hoped to see that tree
and the view around it
every day for the rest of his life.

Good by to my mother,
who passed onto me
her love of trees.

Good by
to all loved creatures
recently gone.

The tree was gone in a minute,
along with dry bushes, weeds.
The back hoe scraped the soil over
Coke cans, water bottles,
plastic flowerpots and chips wrappers—
the detritus from houses on each side,
as well as evidence of years of workers
who sat in the shade of the lot for lunch.

For a year or two
of privacy lost, calm shattered,
peace surrendered,
I would get new neighbors,
perhaps a friend.

Clouds of dust billowed
over my newly painted wall.
They’d repaint the wall
and plant new trees,
the builder promised,
as they bulldozed all.

For Stream of Conscousness Dec. 11: Tree