Preoccupation
Preoccupation
The brain is a miraculous oddity
Roaming at will, out to play,
But returning to sober reality,
Preoccupation stilled for focusing
On the must-dos of the day.
Ah, but then there is that flower,
That beautiful bromeliad,
And the mind preoccupies to the child
Who thought it would make her glad.
Repot it to a larger container
And she’s diverted to that task,
And the chicken breasts remain uncooked,
The brain is a miraculous oddity.
Where is the potting soil?
Preoccupying itself with raw chicken,
While the house goes unkempt,
Wandering to wonder where is the parchment,
Humming a song about children and flowers.
The brain is a miraculous oddity.
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