Shards

If you must
sit inside on a bright and lovely day,
focused--for definitions that mean unfocused--
on the screen of a computer,
not the world around,
then the shards of life caught in its web
offer beautiful solace.

Yesterday, while cleaning the screen, I found brief mention of Neja Tomšič’s Tea for five: Opium Clippers. It’s a transitory artwork, a happening, so I can’t experience it, but I’m struck by what tiny glimpse the Internet has given me of her work.

Statistically Speaking

When I was born, I was one of
 three billion,
 seven hundred seventy-five million,
 seven hundred ninety thousand,
 nine hundred twenty-three

or thereabouts.

Today, I am one of
 seven billion,
 seven hundred fourteen million,
 five hundred seventy-six thousand,
 nine hundred twenty-three

or thereabouts.

At this rate, it would need a plague
or some great calamity,
a climatic holocaust perhaps,
for me to be
twice the man I was

or thereabouts.

Somehow I doubt the cliché
had statistics in mind when age
would strip my capacity
to less than half
the man I used to be

or thereabouts.

A Procrastinator’s Love Song

Lots of things to do, there are lots of things to do.
Lots of things to do, there are lots of things to do.
If I got up this morn, then I could do them too.
Lots of things to do, there are lots of things to do.

The first thing to do is to do the thing to do.
Lots of things to do, there are lots of things to do.
Then the thing to do is to do the thing to do.
Lots of things to do, there are lots of things to do.

There are things to do that they want me to do.
Lots of things to do, there are lots of things to do.
I don’t want to do what they want me to do.
Lots of things to do, there are lots of things to do.

Let’s find things to do that they say not to do.
Lots of things to do, there are lots of things to do.
Some of the things to do are things to do with you.
Lots of things to do, there are lots of things to do.

Things to do with you are the things I like to do.
Lots of things to do, there are lots of things to do.
Things for me and you.

(Baby I’ll be with you ’til there’s nothing left to do.)

School, a Poem

Locks us inside

3 minute breaks in between

42 minutes

“School,” a poem by Number Two Daughter (13)

Number Two Daughter brought this poem home from school today. She’s expressed this unhappy sentiment several times before, more frequently since the recent increase in lockdown drills and procedural restraint on the movement of students.

I have particular opinions about how the schools are structured, which I may share vocally now and then, but I believe my children are developing their own opinions based on observed experience rather than any ranting I’ve done. The subjects of the system notice what the system is doing, even if they are powerless to prevent or change it. Later, as adults, they might forget, or perhaps accept it as “just the way things are,” and send their children through the same system. As has been remarked in other contexts, this is a feature, not a bug.