Pulp Fiction

The tree was suffering from paranoia.
Thank you, Kilmer, moochas grazias.

Better than a squirrel
gone nuts.

By now the deaf woodpecker
can only blame himself.

The leaves fell doubled-over in pain,
or they were very good actors.

The lightning broke a limb, or two,
it can’t count,

nor can it understand
the concept of zero.

Damn tree will outlive us all,
long enough to see the first tree elected President.