Magnolia

Settled outside the house, fallen on the front lawn,
scattered throughout the grass and gravel,
a hundred leaves of red-stained
white magnolia.

"I don't know what kind of tree that is,"
She says, and it is true.
We pause to inspect its pedals.
"It's nice though," One of us says, trying
to let her leave.
And then another, suddenly such an expert to us all,
with confidence, calmly, cooly, exclaims,
"That's a Magnolia tree."
"Ohh," we pleasantly ejaculate
to one another.
"It's nice", the same one says, still trying
to let her leave.
Finally she turns the key,
pulls out and drives away.
I want to go inside,
I don't care about the tree.


Then it was a week later, and,
sadly staring through the bay window
at the light of the summer day,
searching for some kind of solace
in some kind of something, somewhere, suddenly,
red stained white magnolia leaves
strewn about the lawn caught my eye,
and with a furrowed brow,
to myself, I said,
"That is a nice tree".