© 2007 Photo by Sue Miller
The Jujube tree is barren already
except for a few dead leaves,
they waddle and sway with the wind
stringy as limp Irish moss.
Grey and white doves huddle
together, their fat bellies
overhang on each side
on mangled, dead branches
intermingled as cobwebs.
A cold front and overcast sky
mute activity if it weren't
for me scampering below it,
bundled in three layers
of clothing. Afternoon sprinkles,
biting cold, pierce my bones.
I'd much rather be cool
than blistering hot
as long as temps stay the same
and the rain lasts one day, I'm fine.
I dislike persisting rain
day after day, thermometer gauges
dropping down, down, down
until I wake up one morning,
find my car whiter with snow.
I can see it now when
I am late for work and drivers
here screech into nasty mishaps
because they know not how
to drive in it. I will brush off
the snow, drive slowly to work,
dodging wrecks and tow-trucks,
police cars with circular lights
and I hope to park near that
Jujube tree, resting in winter
its wicked limbs frozen, stiffer
than planks of grey steel.
