WORMSONG

WORMSONG

We overuse everything: apologies, tools for the yard, commas,
Phones, computers, etc.,
Never taking responsibility for the critical mass we are creating,
One so explosive, it will end us all.

We are dying.

We are all walking dead,
Staring down the abyss of inattentiveness,
Oblivious to everything around us:
Kids walking to school, the ducks on the road, a baby crying down the street,
The sun, the moon, the stars above, the rich, brown earth below.
Maybe there´s an answer on Google,
Maybe someone will remind us that
We are here
To be here,
A prophet to tell us to wake up
And kiss a stranger, hug our neighbors,
Be there when we cut the grass or wash the dishes-
Be there, only there, just there.

Maybe some bacteria will infect our hearts
And collectively, we will all suffer from
Affectionis cardiitis,
Walking around looking straight into the eyes of everyone we meet
And smiling, give them a reminder of why THIS is all we have.

Because it is.

We won´t waffle – we´ll see them straight, like we sometimes see ourselves.
Then, in this new sickness, we´ll crawl on the floors with babies again,
Walk with the old people, slap a buddy on the back for no good reason
Except because he´s there, and so am I.

Maybe this sickness will spread and
Frenchmen will tell dry jokes about the water in Paris
Or Germans will imitate New Yorkers badly
While Russians will burst out with glee at something not heavy, at last!

Our favorite past time, war, will change, too.
Instead off sardine packed troop transports,
Fountains will bring people together where
Dangling feet in the cool freshness will get us all medals
And on TV news-anchors and weather folk alike will take calls
Responsive to their viewers and remind everyone
That the sun might be hidden for now
But go outside in an hour and you´ll be able to rest in it´s glow.

Maybe none of this will come to pass…
Maybe we´ll muddle as usual our way through
Until the firmament above opens up
And a voice yells,
“That´s it, I´m done! Time to start all over again!” and,
In a wash of colors we´ll never see,
Everything blank and sudden and filled with nuclear sparkles,
A sprout will one day pop up in that new time
Somewhere between cement slabs that were
Once sidewalks and,
In conversations none of us would have understood anyway,
The worms will pass the word along…
Instead of one weed popping up in photogenic splendor
Let´s all join hands and, reliant on each other
Spring upwards, breaking through the dense blocks everywhere
And take a look at the new sky
Trying once again to get it all right, this time,
Arm in arm, tail to tail, eye to eye,
Right there, right then.

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