A PROSE POEM–WELL, PROSE ANYWAY

What does it mean that we can fuss

over protons being two places at once                                                    

when millions are starving and homeless?

Has our brainpower overshot its mark?

 

We could speak of kinship preferences

if we were taking care of our own

but I include myself among those who

worry about how trees can hear.

 

Or spend time wondering if the protons

who don’t do their thing if observed

would behave the same stubborn way

if the observer were a dog or baboon.

Could our brains be too big for our britches?

—-

(Going through old papers–don’t know if this has been posted or not).

Photo Google Source black & white trash

About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 82 now.
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2 Responses to A PROSE POEM–WELL, PROSE ANYWAY

  1. It all seems so silly doesn’t it Nan?

    Like

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