They spent nearly two weeks hacking
away at the huge and healthy oak tree
in their immaculate front garden,
six doors down from me.
Another neighbour said it was roots,
growing under the foundations, a threat
to the stability of the building.
Chopping the tree down with no regret
was their obvious answer. I would nod
at their red faces as I walked past,
puffed cheeks glistening with sweat, looking noble,
middle-aged but, as lumberjacks, miscast.
Then the inevitable day, the tree had gone, leaving
space where once beauty had been allowed to thrive.
Nature can be a nuisance in the suburbs,
and we only miss it when it's no longer alive.