POEM SHARE: Christmas Tree Lots

Christmas Tree Lots

Christmas trees lined like war refugees, 

a fallen army made to stand in their greens. 

Cut down at the foot, on their last leg, 

they pull themselves up, arms raised. 

We drop them like wood; 

tied, they are driven through the streets, 

dragged through the door, cornered 

in a room, given a single blanket, 

only water to drink, surrounded by joy. 

Forced to wear a gaudy gold star, 

to surrender their pride, 

they do their best to look alive.

Chris Green