The forest once reached to the sea,
before trees were products but rather
a reliable source of sustenance.
These oft-trod woods, crammed
between roads and houses,
overwhelmed by poison ivy,
have become a commodity,
a box of trinkets from the five and dime,
a Maserati in a stockbroker’s garage,
a small but waning planet for sale
to the highest bidder just one more time.
The outrage is real, this small plot
of urban woods no-man’s land.
Claimed with a deed, backhoes and
blueprints, planners and pedestrians
ambling through oaks and pines –
how do you sell the unownable?
As if a deed could last eons, as if a
slice of profit could offset the loss.
Gene Hyde’s poetry, essays, and photography have appeared in such publications as Cold Mountain Review, Amethyst Review, Salvation South, Appalachian Journal, San Antonio Review, Shelia-na-Gig Online, Third Wednesday, Raven’s Perch, and elsewhere. He lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina with his partner and a scruffy little dog.
