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Eros of Bois D'Arc
by Glenn CurrierEach summer he lumbers
into my yard
his burden slumps and bends
his shoulders and arms
grown gawky and unruly.
He is too rough and hard
for this genteel neighborhood -
so well-groomed everything in place.
His gifts pour from his garments
eager generosity unbound
love fervent and clumsy
like an adolescent boy's.
The neighbors sneer at
the yellow donations strewn
by this wild ecologist
eros erupting from his loins
in service to his progeny.
His member hard and firm,
in talented hands strung
to just the right tautness
flexes its muscle to penetrate
the flesh of its target.
His shadow is wide
and in it we cool ourselves
rest our limbs
taking leaves
from our labors
and time for our lives. 10/13/2002 Author's Note: The Bois d'arc tree, with its elastic yellow-wood supplied bows and arrows, products of trade, for American Indians in the southwest. The tree yields a yellow dye once highly valued, but its density has burned out many a chainsaw. The profusion of horse apples dropping in summer and fall are a nuisance to gardeners but a feast for squirrels in heat and dryness of July.
Posted on 10/13/2002
Copyright © 2025 Glenn Currier
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Anne Engelen on 10/14/02 at 08:35 PM Just wonderful...made me think back with sadness of the 14 great big walnut trees in my "american" dad's yard which were cut this summer...oh how I loved those trees. |
| Posted by Kate Demeree on 10/18/02 at 01:21 PM Your poem made me feel like going out and hugging one of my trees. I think that like many things you have a real feel for your tree. How wonderful it is, not just to feel it but to be able to capture that emotion .. in words. |
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