I drive by the old park
hand weakly covering my dropped mouth.
“Watch the road,”
a voice reminds.
What remains at the park,
bleached, corpse white
in the first morning light
under rain-remnant clouds
Are piles of tangled legs and arms,
hair falling around brother bodies,
trunks crisscrossed, crucified,
bunched unceremoniously, disrespectfully,
A holocaust of trees destroyed
for bandstands and parking lots.
Earth ripped and ravaged
and left to dry.
My lunch time friends,
homes to countless, now gone -
disturbed, disturbing,
making way for entertainment and economy.
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