A tribe of trees undressed
with outer skin shed
except for a loincloth of bark-
some leaning towards the country lane
like elders with osteoporosis
one in particular bent so out of shape
I wonder how it stands a chance.
But really, they are survivors
... of the wrathful Hurricane Ike
... of last year’s horrendous drought
and I think about how much has changed
how much has stayed the same.
I’m on my way to see my nephew
born after Ike, almost two.
Goats, donkeys, horses, cattle
graze in pastures framed by wooden fences;
windmills, tires for sale, a fruit stand
strewn upon the vista like afterthoughts
whiz by without a second glance-
does anyone ever stop?
Mobile homes, these fire hazards
seep of poverty, despair
and a cross in the median-
a decoupage of bold bouquets-
reminds me life goes on
like the ever-reaching pines.