Inverted oaks, before they die,
hire attorneys to crucify
the thoughtless power lines that leap
into their hair and then fall asleep.
But the well-heeled defendants deny
the charge, and, in their alibi,
implead the wind, and justify
their dives because they never sweep
inverted oaks
unless pushed. To quote the wind’s reply,
“The lines know that I blow by
from time to time. Yet they keep
strangling the land, and raise on the cheap
the black cash underneath, and fry
inverted oaks.”
Marc Berman hails from Paterson, New Jersey. He holds degrees from Columbia College and the University of Pennsylvania. His poems have appeared in various journals.