A picnic table sits beneath a spreading white oak tree
just outside the building where I spend many of my days
extending an unspoken invitation to all who walk past it.
Perched on a slight incline, it is bathed in deep, cool shade, and
a breeze has, more often than not, accepted the invitation
and it, in turn, entreats passersby to do the same.
Were it not for the heavy chain tethering the table so close
that the tree itself takes two of the end seats
that haven on the hill would be perfect.
Enjoy the table, but don’t steal it. Things are complicated.
Draft, May 2021