A peppermint tree stands emaciated
Within the square of the low sandstone wall that imprisons it
The breeze blows my way
A waft of summer holidays down south
A reminder the tree is still there
Though my back is turned to it
Its bark gnarled and twisted
Grimaces fiercely at the world
Branches sneer down in disgust
At the plastic lunch wraps and condoms scrunched and flaccid
Woven by chaos to form a tortured mat
A testimony of crisp, dry, curled leaves and rubbish
Above the tree droops lonely
Captive for my comfort
But revenge comes silent for the peppermint tree
The mosquitos it attracts carry Ross River virus
That virus infects the other
Crows above caw
The peppermint tree lures
One more
Andrew James Macleod 