Constance's Tree Poem by Sonny Rainshine

You’re always dropping things—
friends, lovers, world view—
just as in November deciduous trees
reduce their sap and strew

their cloaks of leaves and fruits and nuts
merciless to the ground below.
And like the unremorseful tree,
you never weep or know

feelings of regret
or discouragement,
only a sense of lightness
and content.

Look then down at last year’s leaves,
we whom you have done with.
There will come a time
when those you’ve had fun with

and cast aside will remember
your rejections and phoniness
and you’ll live the rest of your life
in isolation and loneliness.