WHICH MAN HAS
THE MARKER HAS IT
We've all got parents. Let's get that straight.
Whatever it means, that blood within us
carries the traces of some trail of delight or
some scrimmage of trouble. Either way,
'dat's who we be's,' as they'd put it in
Harvard. Just like the broad-leaf trim
on one's own burnished image, the
figment of imagination will lead
to quite glorious paths.
Ok, so we learn about that in school
too - how the fish that crawled out of
the sea later on was our grandad to be.
It's all fairly perilous stuff and only allows
its goodness for us because the sea was
not, back then, paved over nor polluted,
by rusting ships and battered tankers.
I get all that, gladly, and take my bow.
Well, then, fingers, OK, but why just five
on each hand? When general improvements
were moving through the neighborhood, no
one figured for six or seven? To make, say,
housework so much quicker, and more jobs
for the baseball mitt guys? If 10, why not
14 then? It's all too much to explain while
riding this speeding train that we've made
of the world - until there's a lethal crash
(of course), and someone is heard to exclaim:
'Where did we go wrong?'