An interdependence of days

Where’s the joy in belonging,
with them, your head will be
long at it, figuring this out,
before you’ll understand,
if you can, under
stands of pretty poplars,
enjoying the love of your life,
the embossed license they gave
you with a scent of petty lies,
and that pretend belonging
sensed but well-overlooked
for the overhanging green
clusters missing their catkins
the way your toes miss
those calfskin shoes
toppled on the flagstones beyond.

Bossily they’re quite good at putting
their airs off, you to ease
with an easy welcome,
but when their time unwell
comes, and there’s a lively green now
speaking love and life without license
to those beyond who will call on you
not to be rapt by leaf or catkin,
but a different flag, and their stones
and shoes hurled at impositions,
disfiguring heads painted on calfskin,
you’ll need to understand
where it is you belong, and stop
longing for toppled stands of pretty
poplars and petty lies
they only pretended belonged to you.