I ambled in the park the other day,
beneath the overcast and through the clumps
of eucalyptus, picked a level way
that dodged the poison oak and gnarly stumps
and brought me when I paused before the tree.
It was a eucalypt but very strange.
Its shape suggested oak – it twisted free
of straight constraint and made its branches range
more outwardly than up. In strips its bark
like packing tape depended from its Vs
and its true skin was whiter than a stark
birch. It seemed the general of trees.
Amid the ordinary it stood out
and lured me louder than the kids could shout.