Respect the dynamic.
Our empire can’t be erected
On the backs of other’s babies.
Again. Can it?
Oh, and speaking of erections
Ladies, maybe if you let us touch your bodies
Every once or twice or three times
We’d let you have a say
About your plumbing or that place
Down there wherever the stork
Deposits the twinkle in God’s eye.
Alls I’m saying is it’s tough being white.
Hard to be WHITE. The WHITER THE HARDER.
It’s almost, almost like trying
To not there at all.
My father has been reincarnated as a dog.
There is no physical or character resemblance.
It’s just that, well,
What is life but waiting
For form to allow
The soul to flourish?
My father used to say,
I could tell you what to do.
But you’re going to do what you want to do anyway.
And now he has returned
As an Australian Shepherd/ Kelpie mix
With a boundless personality
Who doesn’t smoke or drink
Or lament about my babci
Putting raisins in the rice pudding.
She loves unconditionally.
I make sure she’s fed and goes out,
Gets treats and belly rubs, too.
Such are the dynamics of the universe.
Waiting for the form
To allow the soul to flourish