Cloaked in the scent
of lilting gasoline,
framed by hot
sizzling
pavement.
While
long-fingered trees,
an audience awakening,
shudder in wintry awe
(shooing the
skeletal brambles)
at humanity’s
dominance.
Nervously
I attempted at being
casual
as I let the white petals
fall to my sweatpants
(shadows love me not).
Braced against the
drunken rumble
of a super-sized doctrine,
the white tree
(the early-beauty bloomer)
rocked
musically
toward the highway.
The white buds
like to pretend they are human
by skipping the winter.
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Submission Name: White Buds
