Only three percent of homes nearby have flaking paint.
Loose bark afflicts a similar fraction of trees —
eucalyptus, birch, cedar, and others I'll leave unnamed.

Imagining myself a robed judge on a break
as I walk protected from sun and stares, I decree
most neighborhood abodes to be well-maintained.

But if I were a house with flaking paint, I'd want rain
or sprinklers to rinse me, towels of fluffy leaves
to rub against, and an antenna or sharp limb

to scratch what itches. As a peeling tree, I'd feel the same.
After shedding my long-sleeved T, creaming with LCD*
and waiting at least an hour, the usual surplus skin

comes off in the shower. The relief for any of us three
(house, tree, me) when surface excess is stripped free
compares to having a sentence repealed, if only temporarily.

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*Liquor carbonis detergent, a tar preparation used to treat psoriasis