Errol Rubenstein

Trees In their naked and undisguised irregularity, trees Are shocking to me, Trunk hunkered in the ground, Roots spread like eels, scrutinizing the soil, A woodpecker’s knothole Making a home for some tiny starling, titmouse or chickadee– Cavity-nesters in the heartwood. A small rodent, a grey squirrel perhaps, Nestled with its young in its drey.

When Those in Power When Those in Power Huddle in hallway corners To discuss false claims and accusations levelled against you; When the metal jaws clamp down And your flag of freedom hangs limp in the dead breeze And your means to sustenance is endangered And your gainful employment is menaced by their intimations, And