By Chainsaw

 

He took the chainsaw

Lopped off chunks inappropriate.

Sad to lose the tree

From the front yard.

Years as the green retreat

For birds, their antics and song.

But with the aging and decay

It was now the woodpile

Or something strangely beautiful.

Unusually small buzzing implement.

Big strokes first

For the required dimensions, shape.

Neighbours wondered at the event.

Odd spacing at the trunk

Became a bent leg

As if resting.

Upward right angled limb

Becoming arm cocked

And wiping off brow’s sweat.

Features of the trunk converted

Into jack shirt, jeans, wide belt

And face of chiseled features.

With a gentle smile.

Precise detail in that face.

Man of work, taking needed rest.

Reminder of former times and ways.

A real shovel held upright

In the other hand.

All this in a three day transformation.

Sort of like Easter Hope.

And destined to last.

As a timeless thing.

(one of the many figures proudly offered in Orangeville ON.)