You think of a time 
your dad left your Christmas tree up 
until April. 
Its sad carcass dropped a ring of needles 
onto your carpet for weeks on end, 
but this is
infinitely worse. 
For one, this tree’s needles 
have faded to russet and for two, 
they’ve fallen into the gutter despite 
the fact that—unlike a Christmas tree— 
this one has roots. 

Also, it is three stories tall. 

“It’s going to fall on their house 
if they don’t cut it down,” your sister says. 
You both know you’ve had this conversation, 
but what else is there 
to say? You’re mourning a tree
that isn’t yours and you wouldn’t have noticed 
if it wasn’t shedding its skin into 
the road where you take your daily walks. 

You kick bitterly 
at the crunchy carpet of needles 
and think to take your boots off 
and step on the spines barefoot 
to share in the tree’s pain. 
Instead, you talk 
with your sister about climate change. 
More felled trees in the park. 
Down the road. 
You’ll probably have a similar conversation 
tomorrow 
and the next day 
until they flag the tree 
and carry it away, 
leaving just the needles to be swept up 
like the day your dad 
finally carted that April tree 
to the dumpster.