Lansdale Street

I used to be jealous of Landsdale Street
Its houses were slightly better
than Benton Street houses–
where I lived, just a few blocks away.
Lansdale had gorgeous full-grown
trees, and heat-calming shade.

And man, those bragging Maples hustled Spring,
rustled the nights of Summer along,
flashed their couture every Fall.
Then they shamelessly shed
their bright burning leaves as the wind
knocked Autumn to its knees –
And still I envied Landsdale Street –
its houses and sidewalks, those trees.

Then there was that cold rough storm –
the one that froze falling rain.
In a couple of hours every trunk, branch, and twig
was coated in a glistening ice glaze.

Lansdale Street was chosen by that storm,
long limbs tore down
like war and thunder.
With a camera hanging from my neck,
wearing a bike helmet,
and jacket, I walked alone,
to shoot a shattered glass scene.
Because of that storm, Lansdsdale Street
lost every tree it had known.