Three guys in fluorescent vests are taking down
a tree along my neighbor’s fence line, which is, of course,

my fence line, with my two round-eyed snakes and my wandering

raccoon. That is, if you go in for ownership. My, my, my.
For weeks the tree they’re cutting grew tight with a neon pink band

around its trunk. A marking, so you knew it was going to die.

Must have been at least fifty years old, a nonfruiting
mulberry with loads of wintercreeper crawling up the bark.