Witness

Old Oak Tree with curly hair,

The one that spans a century

And spreads out over human lives,

Our births, our deaths, adventuring

A yard or two beyond our fences,

Stories high up in the air,

Stretching, stretching, always stretching,

Like our History, always there;

Blue, the sky beyond your lacings;

Gray, the bark that chips and falls;

Gray the squirrel that scampers on you;

Brown, the acorns, one and all;

After rain, your curls turn feathers,

Green and lush with ferny growth,

In your shade, we bathe in water,

Fish out moss and utter oaths,

Drink our bourbon, light a fire,

Watch the bats that squeak and play,

Capturing the stray mosquitoes,

Horseflies, driving us insane;

Now, it tickles us with breezes,

Cautious Autumn, nudging, cool;

Soon ‘twill be too cold for swimming,

Lone and silent winter pool;

Still, we’ll sit beneath your branches,

Sunset rays bedazzling eyes,

Hear, the distant sound of drumming,

Fireworks, lighting up the skies,

Signaling it’s time for bonfires.

Watch smoke filter through your boughs.

As we burn our books, our history,

Which crimes will you witness, now?

For an essay on how comedians bear witness and make more palatable the harsh truths of our time read Bare Witness.