May I cut your wood? 

That’s all life seems to be
since the storm named after you
knocked down all my trees.

Once again my prides aloof
for as far as I can see
the yards are full of limbs and leafs.

I grab the oil for the chain
with which I saw. 
Cleaning up messes
that I didn’t make at all. 

I’ll spin this blade 
until it’s black and raw 
and there’s nothing left of me.