Ivy and the White Tree.
Ivy, ambitious strangler in order to climb,
to evolution’s ignorant, ultimate, patient kill,
from infantile pinch
a furious fibrous vice.
Spiral claws grab the white tree,
attitude hardening all the time,
grizzled arms embrace
like antibodies after foreign parts,
year by year.
Isostatic grip, iron squeeze,
slowly suffocating mass,
until the white tree disappears,
fastens like a scaffolding clamp,
a scaffold noose,
but the last straw holds on,
despite boa muscle,
Victim bows out an inch,
but is still performing now,
a minute twist,
shallow hollows here and there,
as gnarls press in gangs.
Ivy’s indefatigable mercilessness
“is not strained”, but miffed,
wonders why sap only gushes down,
why the wind pipe never chokes,
resists being crushed into a Venturi
to get Ivy all excited,
why life endures in the bundle,
as though Ivy’s just not there,
from gutter and rain,
to the watered guts of a drain.