what if all the souls on earth had cellophane skin and we could see every organ and watch the blood flow to and fro from the heart as it beats steadily beneath the ribs what then would we choose to hate for surely man cannot live without hate would we choose how a voice sounds oh i suspect not we’d probably rely on color again except now the color of one’s eyes
each moment of his day was carried out with precision a precision that would even awe the Swiss family friends financial dealings and of course the occasional lover were all scheduled his life was a race against time and time won
oh how spring
brings forth from poets
a multitude of verses
a never-ending array
of love lost
and then regained
friendship betrayed
and then forgiven
like an army of prodigal sons
birth and rebirth
more flowers than in a monet painting
colorful rituals of every sort
say but one
removal of the christmas training wheels
although not practiced everywhere
it is one which these poets have forgotten
and like all rituals it has its steps
first to ride upon the softest grass
assuring no injury to the child
leaving only injured ants in its wake
no unexploded ordinances here
unlike the fields in vietnam
next moving to the cruel street
father racing beside his child
legs pumping and out of breath
protecting his child from his past pain
like a parent in beirut, afghanistan, iran
or east la
where learning to ride is not an option
finally at the child’s insistence
the father is banned to the bay window
watching his child challenge the world alone
with coffee cup in hand
still running beside his child
and with his first fall
the first scars upon his heart
as the child continues to confront the world
the father cannot end his virtual race
and with each fall
another scar
Read Between the Minds 