Poem: Wrestle

 

Wrestle

 

we sapients wrestle with ourselves,

reason versus the cruel.

 

would joy break into outer space,

the Earth crack, a sweet cosmic egg?

 

or would people go extinct

and Nature green-over our nuke-boom slide?

 

for now, anyway,

herds would fail to run wild,

reduced instead to packaged meat.

 

trees would grow runt,

enshadowed by sawmills.

flowers huddle, oceans stink.

 

we hungry, needy sapients

we grapple the globe

with our straight-lined, fence-bound 

wrestler's grip.

who needs ice in the arctic circle,

when you have air conditioners?

who needs sanity when you have computers?

who needs weather?

who needs nature at all?

 

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Having a rough time.  Edited almost every poem I wrote since October.  No certainty.  In my brain or in the world.  Afghanistan debacle unspeakable.  One more horror.  It all mounts.