Wednesday, February 3, 2016

The Ginkgoes on Main Street

The revolution of trees
wasn't started by minds organizing
common things in God's obscure garage.

Chaos-fathered, here they are
on a strip of dirt in the center of town
without demands for a brook or a forest.

Drizzle from a mongrel's kidneys cannot keep them down;
they'll grow beside trash if they must;
I meet a gnarled survivor with canary hair.

It's only April so I guess she's dying
but she wasn't desperate--I leaned on her
and told her of troubles ginkgoes never have--

It's now two seconds before midnight
on a day that began with nuclear fusion
four and half billion years ago Thursday.

Her kinfolk have lived here for eons;
mine for two million tough years at best.
How long will it last?  Buddy,

my dog, sniffs a toy poodle walked
by a woman with lemony hair;
all it takes is one whiff and we're gone.


Thomas Dorsett

This poem first appeared in
The Texas Review
Spring/summer 2015

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