Tree Surgeon, You Did Not Heal Thyself

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem 

If you had been a tree, the problem would

Have been your roots.  Your height reached up as high

As Absalom suspended.  Fatherhood

Was given you, but you were focused, sly,

Because your mother also gave the gene

To cause this tree to slump.  Maternal dugs

Fed milk enough to ruin sap, unclean

Because of tendency to gobble drugs

In different ways, through mouth and throat, in nose,

Through needle veins—the lot.  Instead of living hope,

You focused only on the next high dose

From Bud cans or from snort of powdered dope.

  Your limbs and trunk were strong, your hair enough

    To startle leaves, but you chose addict stuff.

~ Phillip Whidden