An ash, the kind of tree which no one cares
About, the kind cut down and not replanted,
Turns the most amazing yellow each year
When the autumn comes, and look at you!
Out of the office, hair unbunned and glasses
Off, you nearly outshine that old tree.
I weary of self-conscious beauties,
Cherries blossoming in spring and babes
Too done-up for a trip at midday
To the grocery store. I much prefer surprise
Unveilings, trash trees along fence rows
Showing off their autumn underwear,
Or you, Miss Mousy from accounting,
Shyly showing yours.
© Lawrence Beck 2022