MAN THE
MAKER
Abject man, sorry man, soiled man,
farmer man, maker man - homo faber.
A million years of rolled and tucked-in time
have brought us to this - lost dances in all
of our dreaming. And I am sorry for nothing.
-
I enter the tunnel holding my head up,
keeping watchful in the dark that nothing
errant comes my way. I know that Evil has
a plan. I have seen the future, and I'm not in
it. It's not like that at all; the little man with
the bake shop has stepped outside to smoke.
-
Let me be frank : I don't want to be unsure, nor
to be seen without solutions. Three cars have
parked at the curb, right where they shouldn't be.
It's an enormous responsibility, to let this infraction
go, but we do. The little baker man shrugs, not
knowing what else to do. Law-maker man, I always
thought, had all the solutions : sheriffs and marshals
and gendarmes all. Everyone wears a tin badge;
but all they do is walk on by.
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