plane tree plans

I’m looking at London plane trees at the edge of the Queen Victoria Market. Around the plane trees, I see asphalt and concrete and gravel. There is canned ambient music, the echo of the sound of electronic puppies and the quiet steely stares of the Jehovah’s Witness. You weather the carpark in neat rows. I wonder what it feels like to be so hated. I am offered parts of your tree body when you are removed. I am making plans copying and touching your fallen and felled barky remains.