Ode to Oak Trees

Oh mighty Oak
and your cousin Beech
How I loathe you
You try to kill me
every spring

You spread your noxious pollen
all over New England
and expect people
to breathe the air

But dear Oak tree
you have forgotten
that like me,
many of the people
you gather b'neath
your lacy boughs

Are allergic to your
damn pollen
And so hate you
and dream of
noisy chainsaws
that can take you down.

Just when you have
delivered migraine
agony to all your
human neighbors
when you have made
people weep and rub
their itchy eyes

When you have made
the asthmatic wheeze
for clean air you have
befouled

You spread your shade and
pretend that you are our friend.

But we do not forget
not for a moment
that not only do you
foul the air we breathe

But you litter the landscape
with your stupid little
wingy things all autumn
long

Attempting to take over the world
one Mighty Oak at a time.

Just when we have pulled up the
last of your damn seedlings,
You shed your acidic leaves all
over our green lawns

Creating bad backs and even more
allergic reactions to leaf mold.
You are a scourge on the world,
Oh Oak tree.

Had I a saw that buzzed with
the power of emancipation
I would rid the world of your
freakish existence.

Until then, I suffer in darkened
rooms with sinus cavities filled
with snot, and swear to God
that one day, I will eradicate
every last one of you.

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