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.
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