Dendrology Poem by Robert Ronnow

Surveying
northern autumn afternoon
Pitcherelli, ex-marine, body-builder,
Lussier, long-haired father of three dark-skinned
      children
and myself, sharp-edged loner, ex-lover of a fair share
      of women
are belly-laughing in the dying sun. Clouds.
The crew, among trees.
                                     Laughing
over recent visits to marvelous cities where
we could not keep ourselves from touching the terminal
      buds
of numerous exotic trees
and attracting ridicule of stylish girls and tame
      boyfriends.
Pitcherelli before the Albany bus station
shaking hands with a red pine planted thirty years ago.
Lussier, one hand in a child's hand and the other
feeling scabrous bark of urban woody plants.
Myself among partially shaved heads and leathery
      aromatic jackets
getting close to the hairy bud of an unidentified poplar or
      sycamore.
                        People
laughed, but we laughed best
back on our mountain
under the blackening weather.