osage orange

the old osage orange hedge

still marches perpendicular to the road

marking the boundary line of a farmstead

long since swallowed up by atomic age homes.

who knows how long they’ve stood there,

wood hard as nails, roots reaching deep

down into the limestone hill.

if their past planter could see them now

would he be distracted at the modern marvels speeding by below,

or would he take a long look and then slowly say,

them’s my trees — look how well they’ve grown?