There might be more varieties of green
than any other hue. That may be why
our brains adore it; this is what we mean,
when we refer to nourishing the eye.
There’s spring and olive, Kelly, drab and pea.
No other color clashes by its side.
The only verdant negatives we see
are green for envy, mold and pesticide.
We should have used some other tones of ink
to print our currency. Our choice of hue
is counter to its clarity. I think
we ought to make our money honest blue
as strong as currents, red for all our debt,
on white of industry, lest we forget.
How come you all assume when I stay home
I’m not at work, who’s known for working hard?
And why when I report I wrote a poem,
do many dread the jingle of a card?
How came the custom to take Friday out,
if fortunate enough to trim the week,
when Monday is the problem? What about
alternatives? Can’t you see them? Speak!
It’s difficult to fully fail a test.
You have to know your stuff to get it wrong.
Misunderstood and slotted in a nest
of ducklings where I’m sure I can’t belong,
I bow my neck to spread my winds and fly
above the gossamer. I kiss the sky.
I wonder how society would look
if every individual were smart,
if each derived some knowledge from the book
of life, expending time on love and art,
and all unique as marketing implies.
Imagine hordes of heroes, brilliant kids,
sagacious parents, teachers kindly wise,
and scanty need for bell curves or for grids.
I wonder if each baby holds a bud
of heroism in her infant cells
that needs a catalyst to find its gear.
We act like desk-bound soldiers with the thud
of war outside; flak-jacketed and well-
protected, all we seem to feel is fear.
No woman should be President, the men
assert, lest we be ruled by estrogen.
And I in asking this may be alone:
Where have we gotten through testosterone?
Debating with my dad for anarchy,
I told him total freedom is my cause.
I said if we were all we’re meant to be
we wouldn’t need to fashion any laws.
But he asserted lawmaking’s a clue
we comprehend the things we need to do.
Perspective comes from looking down or up.
A view depends on if you push or pull.
I see the liquid halfway in the cup,
but is it getting emptier or full?
And has our species prospered, more or less?
Or are we, in the grander scheme of things,
a group of barely marginal success,
bereft of wisdom, talons, gills or wings…