Our new telephone poles
Standing so straight and tall.
What have you done
To incur the wrath of us all?
Erect as a guard of sentries
Along our one-lane roads,
Your naked brown wood
A story of nature told.
A mountainside forest,
Stout, heavy-limbed trees;
Tops bend ever so much,
The stiffest of breeze.
Strong men did come,
Boot and glove. Saw and truck.
They felled your majesties,
Your centuries of luck.
Taken from your woods,
Carted to our towns,
Your cross trees now bolted;
Not a smile or a frown.
Many lines strung with care,
Along your tops and sides.
The power as apparent —
The currents in the tides.
For us, you reach up.
Our computers, light and heat
An engineering marvel,
You deliver us a treat.
But, what, we turn away?
We say that you are ugly!
Too big, too tall for us
We say (a bit) smugly.
Why our scenic uproar?
Why all of our ill will?
We like our treetops.
Power is our poison pill.
I, for one, see your beauty,
Enjoy your neat looks.
You are not at fault —
Something out of a storybook.
Jonathan Burke works for the Oak Bluffs Library and has lived on the Island since 2001.