Oh, Madge

I put my tree on the
porch.
no lights.
no tinsel.
just there, standing, still
in the
stand.
I’m not sure why
except
perhaps it is some attempt
at
homage, which is
a French word
that everyone mispronounces.
it is
not
the cost,
which was 49.95,
because it had a
yellow
sticker.
it is not an attempt
to
elongate the holidays
which, by the way,
were far shorter
this
year, for
me, at
least, and for good
reasons
which can be found
in other places and thoughts
and moments,
other
than here.
it is, instead,
I think,
just
because,
and: why not,
and:
“you don’t know
me,”
and:
mind your own business.
or
not.
I thought about adorning
it with
lights, then thought this: no,
I won’t.
it already has played the
part
of the bear
cycling for the
circus.
enough of that.
now, it might regain
it’s
pastoral
dignity, if for a few moments.
the hole it left in
the forest remains.
but, here,
a bit of
homage. or at least a thought
of it and for it.