Dendrology

Surveying

northern autumn afternoon

Pitcherelli, ex-marine, body-builder,

Lussier, long-haired father of three dark-skinned children

and myself, sharp-edged loner, ex-lover of a fair share of women

are belly-laughing in the dying sun. Clouds.

The crew, in timber.

                                 
Laughing

over recent visits to marvelous cities where

we could not keep ourselves from touching the terminal buds

of numerous exotic trees

and attracting ridicule of stylish girls and tame boyfriends.

Pitcherelli before the Albany bus station

shaking hands with a red pine planted thirty years ago.

Lussier, one hand in a child's hand and the other

feeling scabrous bark of urban woody plants.

Myself among partially shaved heads and leathery aromatic jackets

getting close to the hairy bud of an unidentified poplar or sycamore.

                                                                                                
People

laughed, but we laughed best

back on our mountain

under the blackening weather.