God help us
Gnarled tree trunks and arboreal murder
clutter the field and my heart grieves
not in the hippy tree-hugger way
but in the waste, the emptiness, the destruction
out of nowhere and with no need.
searching for the perpetrator,
my eyes land on the steeple,
greedy for alms while feeding none
i turn my head away from it
facing traffic once more,
a bumper sticker catches my eye
“Made in God’s image”
it’s attached to a pick-up
with a piece of cardboard duct-taped to the window
blocking most of the view,
from the rear view mirror.
So blind, so without class.
My God looks nothing like that,
and he certainly doesn’t do THAT to trees…