Miles from its supermarket origin

now rustling in a tree

gripping to the frail branch,

no willingness to be set free.

The plastic bag waves like a flag

without a country.

It stands for nothing,

yet holds on too tight.

The push-pull sway

a dance with an uninvited partner,

the outsider.

The breeze instigates this

strange dance

along the main quad,

and two students, pointing

to the odd pair in their forced union,

the red oak like a majestic guard

facing taunts,

Once a bird perch of

a proud arm,

now stuck with this flimsy

clinging nuisance and its

cheap mockery.