Tree Slaughter

Wednesday morning

Tonight

Early Wednesday morning the head splitting 

screech of a circular saw

tearing the air.

Once a year our neigbours strim the long hedge

that runs at the back of our garden.

So I don’t take much notice.

I think that’s what they are doing.

Mid morning, my hands in the washing up bowl, I  glance out of the back door and

I see something high in the sky

that freezes the gasp in my throat.

Something falling

slowly 

tied to a loose rope

and then a 

terrible crash 

as it smashes to the ground

in a hush of leaves.

A branch slashed

from the giant poplar tree

in our neighbours’ garden.

A man with a red hard hat

tethered with rope to another branch

Eiffel Tower high

a chain saw extended in one hand

in front of him

whirring through

fresh wood 

taking the life

of the tree

that has always been there.

Sentinal grandfather

overseeing all our homes

skeletal statue in winter

rustling with pigeons

in summer.

I measure the time by its swaying green shade

across our patio

barring and releasing 

filigree sun 

into our kitchen.

They take all day

with their loud surgery

and it’s still not done.

Tonight it stands 

half cut

stunned 

disabled.

And it won’t leave me alone

the space where it lived

empty now. 

The great majesty of it

removed 

with such violent precison.

The ache of it 

hurts so much

like someone I loved

just died.