If I were a tree,
I would never be able to stop talking.
And I would ruin the forest.
Driving glittering birds into the vacant sky,
Uprooting my silent neighbors,
Sending squirrels with frustrated faces flying off to new homes.
Better homes, they’ll say.
When I fall in the woods,
I’ll pretty obviously make a lot of sound.
And the eye-rolling will commence, nearly audible above my incessant moaning.