Mr. Tree

Sitting on dirty grey concrete.
the only lights are dim from the street lights.
and the red burning at the end of my cigarette.
Staring out at an Elm tree.
Sucking each ounce of carcinogenic chemical,
into my badly abused lungs.
admiring the simplistic beauty
of life in a standstill.

I study each leaf on a half full tree,
missing the emerald luster that is it's neighbor.
Content in the dragness of what it is accostomed to.
It's tired and weathered.

It remains the same.
The same magestic creature forgotten over time.
I stare at it's twisted smile.
Long over due, I introduce myself.
I know he hears me.
The folliage remained still.