Tree Harvest

There are too many snails!
Also I planted a tree.
The glass witch tea kettles the nettles froopishly.
The arboretum is afire and nary a squirrel monkey to snuff it.
The cockroaches ate the squirrel monkeys, you know.
Craggy old Jasper squats behind a birch now.
Thinks I can’t see him.
The grass tickles the pigs even pinker.
Are those flames closer or is it just me?
This is God’s country and He fashioned it out of wood.
The green greets me graciously before it is enveloped in senseless conflagration.
Flatulent flagellants ululate whilst undulating and circumnavigating the sequoia.
It stops nothing,
But they feel better about it.
The tea kettles hiss and the glass witch melts away.
No doubt she’ll never tea kettle a nettle again.
At least never so froopishly.
Jasper has vanished like the squirrel monkeys
(Not in the literal manner, but his absence is much like their disappearance in the sense that it was rather unexpected at the time).
Dogs howl, but cannot get out.
Beware the igloo scorpions.
If only the bees would stop making honey in my head.
It stings my thoughts and makes the fire louder.
If only someone were minding the store.
A thousand year old oak withers down like a cheap candle.
We manufacture wax so that it will go away.
Did I mention the snails?
Oh, good.
Molten glass witch purposely pours across the ground and evaporates into my shoes.
I dance.
I then squint.
Jasper’s back.
He is on fire.
It’s probably for the best.
He was never suited to this climate.
Perhaps I may salvage his pocket watch from the ashes.
I bundle my satchel and brush the intolerable snails away.
They are like little, intolerable upper-class slugs.
Intolerable snails.
Intolerable fire.
Is Jasper dead yet?
My shoes dance over toward a spindly spruce.
Help the dogs, I must.
Risky business,
starring Tom Cruise.
A hatch!
Of course!
The hatch marked “escape!”
It’s right here on the mastiff’s side.
Once unwound, in I climb.
The flagellants are gone.
No more smell.
Old Jasper’s pocket watch will have to wait.
The snails are gobbling up the flames one lick at a time.
Time to go.
I’ll come back later
When there are more squirrel monkeys.
My shoe taps.
I close hatch.