My Neighbor's Poison Tree Poem by James McLain

The old man next door planted a tree,
said it'd bear fruit in a year or three.
But the leaves curled black, the roots ran deep,
a sickness lurked where secrets sleep.

Flies circled the branches, heavy with rot,
a stench of something long forgot.
The birds that landed never sang,
just dropped like stones, stiff as a plank.

He watered it daily, a sly little grin,
as if he knew the death within.
Dogs howled when the wind would blow,
kids crossed the street, walked fast, heads low.

One night the tree split with a moan,
and out spilled bones—old, overgrown.