Still Life

Slush of remaining snow Mocks the glee of the day it fell Like an old prostitute her first dream Of maidenhood The view doesn't move Fixed with rusty nails Of stars And you say to yourself how nice it must have been For the ancients Thinking that the universe revolves around us People gather in sheds Cars, houses, clubs On TV screens The President says something about a possible war Quietly, without emotion Like telling us that tomorrow He'll walk his dog Undying others die And unborn others are born We speak of nonexistent things And there are always things we don't talk about Will we ever learn The simple craft of living?