Snap shot, up close, it could be Hawaii.
Pan out and I can see, like me, you don’t belong here.
Stalks bursting out the ground in front of the crumbling
apartment complex, repainted and peeling.
Your green leaves and branches are like laughter at a funeral.
You turn my exhale into oxygen.
But, I’ve spied your dying leaves, brown and scraggly like stray dogs.
I’ve stepped over your green bananas, picked by the kids; now squashed, attracting flies.
I stride past you in the morning, and I do not meet your glance.
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