An African Tulip Tree in an Acrid City

The African Tulip tree stands naked
under the scorching summer sun.
Uncaring of the heat
two birds sit in its branches
ranting, chanting (it would be a stretch
to call it singing). Both green plumed
the birds hold court in an aloof way
not seeking company, praise or criticism.
They call out more to themselves than anyone else.
I listen from the terrace – fascinated
by the lack of rhythm in this unmusical concert.
Only nature knows the code to this programme.
She who bears white radish and bleeding beets
both in the same belly – she knows the language of these
rants or chants (it would be a stretch to call it birdsong).
As she knows that beneath the nakedness
inside the curvy, brown branches now catching the sun
fresh green leaves await release into the air of an acrid city. 


(Poet Post Script: World Earth Day is everyday but do we know or hear it?)