Everyone’s the same
self-conscious
-ego’s to blame.
I’m ashamed
that I’m not ashamed,
should I be ashamed?
Yes,
you feel bad
for wishing goodwill to men.
That makes sense. . .
Meanwhile, this mid-life crisis in my head
is sending me to bed
without dinner.
One less dirty plate,
one more clean step
into the world of an unknown fate.
And I can’t help myself
as I think about dirt,
and how amazing it seems to be.
Suddenly my clean shoes
find their way off my feet.
I dream I take my seat
on the ground, and dig up
every pretty flower on the sparse lawn.
“Yawn!”
You thought I was going
to kill them didn’t you?
They’re not weeds to me,
and they needed to be
saved from The Lawn Mower’s Demise.
