they came with chainsaws and spreadsheets,
they said "risk management" in dollar signs,
called your roots
"liability"
and your shade
"unproductive space."

they billed the city $5,000
to turn you into stump-confetti,
while a single prune
costs $200,
would have let you live.

a young hackberry shakes its leaves:
"this tree was my elder.
this river is my kin.
this land is not for sale,
not for rent,
not for your fucking spreadsheet,
your eco-tourism scams,
your oligarchic
"conservation"
that fences life away,
while selling tickets to its funeral."

i am a young tree.
i declare:
no more "cost-benefit analysis"
on breathing things.
no more "mitigation fees"
paid in blood-sap.
no more arborcide
dressed as
"urban renewal."