10,001. THE WAY OF ALL FLESH

THE WAY OF ALL FLESH

The way a bird pecks at things, the way

a dog sniffs the entire world. Those are

figments of the world alone. Little marvels

at the corner stops. The fire hydrant and

the half-dead tree. The loop of a kite string

around a kid's arm, on a wide and open park 

field  -  that too makes me understand the

living I am doing. Maybe herbs placate the

showy flowers : One is quiet, one is loud,

but everyone loves them just the same.

-

Outside the prison walls, along old Rahway 

Avenue now, it's only blacks and Asians

who seem to run against the grain, patrolling

the flea market there like a prison guard would

do. We should conjoin the two, for otherwise

there is no sense in using up this place and

time. Plastic junk from Haiti, and marked-

down dish liquids from 'fallen off the truck.'

-

If I had a voice, maybe I'd start singing : but

what about I'd never know. The big new street

and the big new warehouse going up? Men 

working hard to make their pay : hardhats and

yellow tractors moving earth and tree-stumps

together. We claim to love the land as we kill

it; we claim to seek forgiveness as we err.