Survival [2]

At the mercy of street
and creek, between them
a thin neck of land points
downstream. Patches of grass
attempt to cover its body and
one, two, three trees march
toward land’s end. Here at the
tip a sumach bush roots
its grip on the last of earth,
its ugly leaves held aloft
on trembling stems
wave like banner of survival.
And the triumph in the autumn when
the bush in red glory declares
a victory at no more roothold.