The terrace-surrounded oak is reclaiming its land.

Unseen subterranean tentacular incursions
move through mychorrhizal maps and attack .

Successful missions lift the grip of tarmac from pavement and road,
opening arteries and veins like a villain in a horror movie.

Saplings encamp along front lines;
fortifications of shoots climb slowly and
self-seeded wildflowers and mercenary-moss
shore up defences.

A hi-viz council kill squad
arrives at the battlefield too late. 
The war has already been won. 
A new country has emerged despite attempts to suffocate progress.

Their wasp-cry chainsaw lays claim to trunk. 
An undignified toppling of a head of state. 
In their minds, man must always win 
however hollow a victory.

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