Outside the First Presbyterian Church in November
Portland, Oregon

Ginkgoes form an old processional.
Pleased golden paws fulfill their pledge,

a promise to mirror pigment of artful
glass while gray tones echo cut

stone, marching to and from fall mist.
Ancient shapes plaster the sidewalk,

reminders, not pernicious, they once
purveyed a timeless era. Their policy,

these remarkable species, to pave
the ground plane nearly all at once.

Tomorrow no procrastination,
they’ll leave the porous air and ply

their brightness at playing-field level
rather than prickle what’s not broken

blue. If I could sit as still I’d be gone,
too, no posthumous apology, no parade.

“The Ginkgo is a living fossil, with fossils recognisably [sic] related to modern Ginkgo from the Permian, dating back 270 million years.” From the Wikipedia entry.

Based on a Read Write Poem Wordle prompt using quite a few, but not all of the p-words.  (I guess I should tell you which ones, right? Okay: posthumous, processional, plasters, prickle, pernicious, porous, please, procrastinate. I didn’t use seven of the others, but did add a bunch of my own p’s. Or better said, p’s of my own choosing. I don’t own them.)

You want more p’s? Go here (starting Thursday) for this week’s collection from the Read Write Poem community.