To Whom it May Concern

If that’s a bitter pill,

well, swill, swallow. I’m going,

and I won’t wallow, not in Norway,

where they’re so beyond

slave labor, with laws that say

a clerk must work within five

meters of a window through

which she can see a tree

and by that tree be seen.

My mind’s made up.

I will be Norwegian with Norwegian

trees. I’ll be seer and be seen.

It’s a scenic scene, it’s

how it goes, I’m going.

Tell the top brass, if

they ask, I don’t give

a damn about their asses.

But I will miss the beeches and the ashes.

It’s not their fault I’m leaving.

They’re only trees, and

leaving, I’m Norwegian.