Trash Panda Literary Magazine

cigar tree leaves litter the lawn, lie heavy
stifled by summer heat like everything
else this Sunday in Notre-Dame-de-Grâce.

all morning motorized shearing thundered
through the streets, now the haul
of a rusty leaf blower declares
a man’s presence, declares that he does.

the foliage merely shrugs, weighty
catalpa cuttings too big for the loud
instrument. the power tool of choice
groans at the verdure basking
on the grass with indifference.
in pursuit of a mission, in quest
of true purpose, the man keeps
pointing his weapon
with dedication.

it is the shogun’s katana
it is Excalibur, ready to slay
anybody calling into question
weekend noise levels

in the neighbourhood. from a
balcony across the street someone
casually thanks the lord for bad hearing
a biology degree and the certainty
that the robust cigar tree does
not need skillful care.

Martin Breul currently lives and writes in Montréal (Tiohtiá:ke). His poetry and flash fiction have appeared in print and online in Acta Victoriana, The Honest Ulsterman, Wet Grain, and many more. His reviews featured in periodicities and The Common Breath. In 2021, he was awarded the Mona Elaine Adilman Prize for his eco-poetry and he was nominated for BOTN 2023 by Variety Pack. Martin currently pursues a PhD in Literature at McGill University, where he also serves on the committee of the Montreal International Poetry Prize. His first chapbook love poems suck appeared in 2023 with Cactus Press. Twitter: @BreulMartin