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?
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