taxmen

On Trees

Upon completing his transaction, our man leaves
the assistant damp with tears, exits his loathed branch
of HSBC. He is handcuffed to a trunk.

He crosses the road to walk through green trees, their trunks
make him feel secure, at ease. Above, on a branch,
he sees a grinning imp, fanning itself with leaves.

Panicked, he shoots forward, eyes darting backward, leaves
the imp behind him, wavers, then takes the right branch
at the fork. He stumbles over roots, drops his trunk.

It opens. Face knots with horror, legs become trunk.
Rooted in soil he claws, grasps, as arms become branch.
Around him his money plays in the breeze like leaves.


© Matthew Joseph Johnson, 2009