Listen, he said, it’s like this.
Some idiot farmer has thrown your plans into the wind, like seeds.
God knows why.
On the highway, 18-wheelers roar continually
over several of your dreams.
Don’t worry, the birds are cleverer than those monsters,
they’ll get there, eventually, somehow.
But, buddy – you won’t.
The best of your hopes? The very cleverest ones?
Shooting up behind FastSaveMart.
You can go see ‘em now if you want to,
sunlit and lanky, proud little nothings.
Get there quick, though – tomorrow they dry up. Done.
An expectation gets lucky, sometimes,
finds a nice bit of soil, moistened by an upturned soda can,
and vigorously becomes a bolder version of itself,
so courageous amidst the cardboard and twist ties,
only the weeds are stronger.
Most mystifying of all, perhaps,
are your successes: exploding from the tilled earth
rising above our heads in glory,
like a jewelled sceptre, or a middle finger.
That’s just how it is, he said.
And how could a fool live in a world like this?
And what numbskull is taking score?
Pingback: Sowing Seeds | Whoever, Wherever, Whatever