a bigot in a bank parking lot

a lone tree stood,
tucked up against
an earthen hill.

“i’m gonna get mine!”
said the branches
of the tree.

the branches
against the earthen hill,
they did not receive
so much
direct sunlight.

the branches
facing the open field,
stood daily
in the sun’s full beam.

“i’m gonna get mine!”,
said the branches
of the tree.

the branches
in the sun,
felt themselves
very righteous,
very hard working,
very deserving
of the light.
their leaves grew
large and lush,
their leaves grew
thick and broad.
the branches
in the sun,
feeling worthy of
always more,
they figured out ways
to starve
the other branches.
their leaves
continued to grow
as their pride
swelled.

the branches
out of the light,
they struggled
for resources
so as to grow
a big broad showcase
of leaves.
their leaves
clumped tighter together,
their leaves
were small and thin.

“i’m gonna get mine!”,
said the branches
of the tree.

some branches
worked together,
to share in what they could.
some branches
continued to starve off
other branches,
continued to hoard
for their own leaves.

“those other branches
are not like me!”,
said the branches
of the tree.

when the ax came
and began biting
into the wood,
the branches,
as they fell,
could not believe,
that they were all
a part of
the same tree.

a mountain is cloaked at its shoulders in thick, dreamy cloud. ocean in front of it, a few scraggly pines jut up just in front of the scene.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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