Outside my window
the single tree on my block
is barely a tree.
A reversed truck has left roots exposed
and now the tree
can be seen struggling to connect
with the earth beneath our feet.

The city’s been told
and, in its infinite bureaucracy,
has done aught to rectify anything.
Days have passed
and the tree, she remains untethered
barely balanced above the dirt
always at risk of falling onto the street
into incoming traffic.

Sometimes I watch
from my window.

I did not see
when someone came with a two by four
to silently prop
the only tree on the street
up from the street
so she would not fall prematurely.
Dead wood was used
to maintain the longevity
of the living thing still left on my block.

I haven’t thanked the soft savior
but I’m glad for her actions
and so, I’m certain,
is that tree.