Poem: The Latest
As anyone who knows anything about culture — or Culture, capitalized ironically, like a Tom Wolfe neologism — knows that
If not all
Is the point of all this scurrying.
Much like the rodents we strive to eradicate from our attics and cellars,
We dash, omni-mindedly, with singular purpose but no direction
Toward our shiny better sweeter cheese.
We have no memory, you and I, no future prospects or next-life do-overs, so we dash and dash.