Ah, Twisted Limbs Do Crawl Poem by Stan Petrovich

My headlights seemed dim
When I pulled up to rest near
A tangle of junipers.
Set up camp.
A violent thunderstorm emerged from a wisp of white;
I threw a tarp over an overhanging tree limb;
Whether it was the wind,
The blast of the rain,
The ozone-scuffling lightning nearby
Or my bated brain;
But I saw the tree limb move
Move meaningfully
To shake me off.
I don't want you here, it said.
Stunned in my quarters
I fled to the car and
Looked at the whole tree.
It did have a face, a craggy rig
And favored not the presence of man.
Perhaps next time I'll try an oak or a fig.