Where do Christmas Trees go to Die?
By Jane Hyphen
- 2004 reads
Where do Christmas trees go to die
In a municipal car park piled up high
And all the dogs stop to sniff
The household smells of pets
And festive food. Shiny black nostrils
Twitch and flare as they walk by
The pile of spiky bodies in every
Hue of dull deep green, glaucous
Limbs intertwined with limbs
Debarked from MPV’s and hurled
So gratifyingly upon the heap
To link arms and stick in place
‘That was the best tree we’ve
Ever had.’ They grumble at the
Needles in the boot and drive
Away never looking back
The trees dying for a month
Or more, obliged to look their
Very best in death, dressed up
In dingle-dangles, tinsel stoles
Flashing lights and the scrambling
Claws of cats of unsound mind
They wait in silence now to molt
Spiky needles pile inches on the ground
The shredding man pulls up, aroused
Stutters his big machine it fires and
Shakes and in they go, one by one
Frenziedly into little chunks of wood
Glorious still if only in smell, unified
They form a jacket on the ground
In time to rot, give back a tonic
To the earth from which they sprung
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Comments
Answers the question
Answers the question beautifully, Jane. Poor trees, sacrificed at the altar of seasonal expectation. Makes me quite fond of my mother's fibre optic one. :)
Parson Thru
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That's really clever and
That's really clever and informative, Jane! I liked the mixture of smells from their Christmas homes intriguing the dogs, and their useful end in scent, soft carpet and recycling (jacket and tonic) to the earth. Every other year, my father liked to take us out and choose a graceful branch of ash, and paint it white with some glitter shaken on, and it was a really lovely alternative when decorated. Rhiannon
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My grandparents used to do
My grandparents used to do that, too, Rhiannon. I think they used the same one every year. Thanks for reminding me.
Parson Thru
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Maybe the dogs are interested
Maybe the dogs are interested in the "Claws of cats of unsound mind" . Or maybe wondering at the waste of so many potentional dog newspaper stands (trees much better than lamp posts as more absorbant) The Christmas tree frenzy does seem to epitimise our wanton wastefulness. I used to go into the woods and find a branch from a fallen tree, often ash because it's so smooth and pale. Then we'd pile on as many lights, tinsel and home made sparkly things we could. But my son growing up realised this was not the done thing, so we got a plastic Christmas tree. My parents always had a real tree and burnt it on a bonfire. THAT is a good end for a Christmas tree, a great whooshing shuttlecock of fire ane crackles shooting up higher than the still iving trees. Round here several people have planted a Christmas tree in their gardens from when their children were small, and the trees are now taller than the houses and the children moved away. The one across the road often has owls sitting in it.
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