Splendid Lushness


I will never see those leaves again,
not after the luxury rental units are built,
and the ads that sell marble countertops, stainless steel appliances and parking included invite tenants one-by-one,
to gaze upon the foliage
from their own kitchen windows.
Those leaves,
swathed in dew,
veins of chlorophyll,
papering the walls of the jagged palisades
where abandoned factories
and once-loved houses teeter.
Eyes of broken windows look down upon me, mouths a grimace of peeling paint.
And those leaves;
My leaves of unspeakable lushness mask the ugliness of this urban decay.
A breeze causes them to shake,
but I cannot hear the rustle,
for the sound is buried beneath
tires tearing on potholed pavement,
buses rattling towards the Lincoln Tunnel,
and the low hum of a nearby electrical plant.
Danger.
Hard Hats Only.
I am lucky to see the green,
so bright in the morning light,
like a patch of clover,
or a polo field before the hooves.
I’ll never see my leaves again,
and it brings no comfort
that someone else will.

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