SAPPING
The pines are sapping on the top
Of my laptop keyboard
and on my green car.
Face to face with the lake, I tell it –
I haven’t caught that many trout
as much as you have swallowed people.
I walk along the shore and meet
lonely amateur fishermen.
They bite their lives, and they waste worms.
Sad beaches. The lake spat out reeds.
It’s not the season, but elementary culture
Season lasts throughout the year.
Garbage; landfills near beaches.
Hidden places for car sex.
Condoms and paper towels
with, now, infertile sperm.
They were sapping everywhere they could,
not as much different from
the pines.