They are dying next door.
All of them.
Helmeted invaders, boots on ground,
flourish knives on extendable poles,
laughing, joking, gesturing,
as they slaughter the youngest.
Monkey man climbs the tallest,
aided by ropes and cinches,
swinging from his belt an
automatic whirring weapon,
Grrrrough! Grrrrough! Grrrrrrough!
A crack, splinter, shush,
then falling, loving arms reach out
to soften the impact.
Shattered, I shout, I plead—
It’s Spring, they are preparing
to bud, leaf out,
to shelter, to shade!
How dare you!
Victims shudder, scream their agony,
once inviolate, abruptly raped,
as cold steel continues
to rip limbs from bodies,
by gaping gas-powered jaws
into insubstantial chips.
Fodder, compost, mulch,
Sunday Sale at Lowe’s,
$3.99 per bag.
Mother Nature booms her anger,
Clouds blue-bruised turn threatening,
Sky is weeping, harsh tears clatter down.
Wind exhales, screams a wicked warning.
Invaders stop, mid-slaughter,
cower in their armored place,
with goggled eyes still gleaming,