The Big Tree Obviously Doesn’t Care For Heavy Metal

“Blackened”
playing.  Then
the tree breaks out back,
louder than that. 

Half a two hundred year old oak
comes down,
fills the whole yard with snow-weighted limb,
tears out cables,
only gently grazes the house.

Barefoot in the wet
checking for damage,
and…
other than the tree itself,
there’s none.

Back to “Blackened”
because there’s nothing else to do.
“Callous frigid chill?”  Perhaps,
but only outside.  In here it’s warm,
blistering almost.  I lower the heat

and return to the music of promised disaster.

Isn’t it something when art, for once,
doesn’t imitate life?