Pollarded

March trees
Rise
Freed of leaves
Like a tribal dance
Of amputees.

Streets gasp
At the savagery;
Houses slink shyly
Up their drives,
As eyes are sucked

from bald bough
to bald bough.

Weeks later
Hurling dancers sneak
Under pleats of

Green; flecks of shade
Cavort on the roofs
Of parked cars,
As barbecue smoke signals
Summer’s lease.