After the Storm the Council Chopped Up the Birch
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Quite like that birch tree on the nearby green,
Chuck stood both tall and slim, and black and white.
He leaned a bit too gently, in between
A lean and not. The blackness wasn’t blight
So much as human. At his top his hair
Was leaves-like beautiful, though not like them,
More like what leaves would want to be, a flair
Of curls. On every tree like him each stem
Would beckon and each branch would send out
Sex vibes. He leaned towards everyone in one
Slight sway, a bit, enough to make all pout.
The problem was he needed chop chop fun—
Unlike the tree. But God took care of tree
And Chuck in Christ’s fierce banging stormy spree.
~ Phillip Whidden