The Sugaring

The boy with the bucket,
my dad with the drill,
and I walked along.
The bucket was too heavy
so it joined the drill
until we found the right tree.
The tree is just as right as it had always been
but today it seemed righter,
like the discovery of Mt. Everest.
My dad raised the drill
and I stood waiting for the tunnel.
It comes. Like always.
The bark turns to raw salad.
Now the sweetness is already
dribbling down the front of the tree,
like the drooping green mustache the boy likes to wear.
The boy and the tree are alike, and they are
like discovering Mt. Everest.
Soon it will be summer, turning
dribble to dribbled.
We could tunnel again.
The tunnel would come, like it always does,
and it would still dribble,
but this time it bites like balsamic
and poisons the salad.