Beep beep beep beep.
I look out my bay window.
A man and a tree are walking down
my hill, side by side:
he near the curb,
the tree (his height, but thinner)
riding in the bed of
a beeping little truck.
The man, in fluorescent orange,
sprays water in a high arc
onto my sidewalk
messy as porn-flick come,
while the tree glides
down my street
bewildered.

Aren't we just as lost?
Plopped into jobs
like a rootballed tree.

Someday saplings will
get equal opportunity:
to drive that truck
down my block
and spray bewildered
beeping rooted men.

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