Here's day nineteen's submission of NaPoWriMo (a poem a day for the month of April in honor of National Poetry Month):
The cedar in the front yard
leans toward the house
and groans when it blows.
This worries me.
But not enough to call the arborist
and have him come cut it down.
We paid him a lot of green
five years ago to thin it,
to climb to the top with a chainsaw
lopping off limbs as he went
so the wind could blow through
its arching green branches
instead of knock it down.
Being a tree,
and doing what trees do,
it’s filled back in,
looks healthy and, the neighbors say,
They say the same about me,
and I have a bum knee,
an aching foot, a stent in my heart,
and I don’t see so well anymore.
I hope the cedar is doing better than me,
but when it blows, just to be safe,
I move to the other side of the house.