The oak tree has a gall around its trunk,
the only exception to its perfect upright lines
but it makes the tree look pregnant
and suggests a shortened life.
But what does a tree think.
The water rises, the sugar is distributed,
the leaves splay out in the sun
like stewardesses on layoff.
Photosynthesis wants no more than this
and the effect of hideousness
at the waistline, a tumor of wood
that throws everything off kilter
is minimal, or less.
Life goes on despite deformity
despite all obstacles to our flow.