Snowplow

mother,

the trees on the boulevard look like men,

and when evening falls, I imagine

how defenseless they must feel, unable to run or hide.

the snowplow terrifies me, mother,

pushing up fountains of snow and clearing the way for men.

for when that steel behemoth thunders past,

it comes so close to the trees on the boulevard,

I swear one day it will knock them down.

someday soon, we will all have gone extinct.