In a forest of people, it can be quite dark near the ground. It can be quite light, too, even without the sun.
Museum Piece
In need of a few days off,
I spent them among old trees
that were whispering
terrible secrets.
When I returned home
no one could understand me;
I was begged to come
in from the yard.
Doctors were called;
I pummeled them
with cones.
Now I’m a tree
in an institution,
whispering
secrets
of my
own.
Poems, Slightly Used, February 21, 2010
Categories: Poems, Slightly Used
