I don’t know the names of trees.
They’re standing in a line
like kids in a school photo
I could’ve done better to remember,
like the guy with spiky hair
who never liked my cheese sandwiches,
the bald one who turned his nose up
at the pear in my lunchbox,
the lad who used to try
and persuade me to hide in the bushes
to avoid cross country running.
These trees look like naturals
in their green and brown uniform,
ready to clap leaves with encouragement.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

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