The discarded Christmas trees
lie on the sidewalks of New York:
East Side, West Side, all around the town,
like old songs or rusted automobiles
in Godard’s Weekend.
If you remember the song
or the film, you’re probably also
on the edge of worrying
about the loss of sparkle,
temporary or permanent.
Or, worse, being discarded
yourself, having provided
as much magic as possible
when you were welcome,
at least, for a while.
Plume: Plume Issue #163 March 2025