Tree

Tree

A deep, vicious scar, inflecting upwards to the left

Revealing creaminess beneath the brown,

The scabrous bark broken in many places,

Scratches and marks amongst dark cladding,

And a trail of evidence leading backwards

Through severed wire, now fallen, rusting,

A shattered fence, scattered firewood,

And harsh, thick grooves in the greasy mud,

The grass churned, turned aside,

Straight black tracks, a slick of rubber on the road,

Evidence of speed and skid,

That can be measured and documented,

Needed for the accident report

And the inquests on these boys.

Sharp, hard metal once embedded,

That had cut and sliced and scythed its path

To leave disfigurement,

And lasting defacement.

Now a natural grave-marker,

An arboreal cenotaph,

Supporting fading floral tributes

In shining, glinting cellophane

Marking out the death-spot,

A shrine for grieving relatives,

And a rubbernecker’s magnet

Early hours, New Year’s morning,

A shape shifting at the edge of the wood,

A flash of feral eyes reflected in main-beams,

Suddenly frightened, fleeing,

Running out across their path

In the pitch-black night.

Then the swerving, screaming, screeching,

Smashing, crashing, careering,

And a hard and heavy, bloody impact.

And the creature dashes away

Through thick undergrowth,

Escaping into open fields

And looks back, its own heart still beating.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018