The tree in the park beside my house is a she-devil

The caimito tree
dances coquettishly,
her leaves rippling like
a flamenco skirt
“this is my green side
and this is my brown”.
 
She winks, “Come hither,
old man, bring a chair,
come stay in my shade,
hear my tireless whisper,
out here, in my park,
wisdom is unwelcome.
 
“The sun has not shone
on you for quite a while,
you grew into the house,
window jambs dented
deep into your arms,
your back has the bend
of the rocking chair,
your eyes welded to screens.
 
“You have not been rained on,
you can only smell
the heat of the ground
that meets scant rain,
I see you only
through your window,
you see the world
only over gates.
Come, old man, my breath
will be good for you.”
 
But she has a whisper
that rains leaves on my roof,
clogging the old drains,
rusting the gutters.
There is a virus
in her hair, there are ghosts
in the common air.