The Ash Borer

The ash borer took the tree I planted,

probably years ago though I’ve only just found out. 

The house looked vacant but it was the empty verge 

that took me by surprise.

It’s a conversation piece, 

something new to offer him.

It’s a drug house now.

My dad says it with authority

Though how he’d know this I cannot tell.

We lean over the puzzle in the corner of his room.

Larger pieces, and only 500 in the box

scattered around the box

In his hand a flyswatter lifts the edge of the piece that won’t be caught.

I look at my watch in that slow sideways way I hope he doesn’t notice.

I hold his hand, but softly so it doesn’t hurt.

I was talking about the tree, I want to say,

I miss the tree.