The Thinker

The Thinker These are precarious times we’re living in That shakes our fancy but bores us to the whim. When the right hand doesn’t know the other, And as the left leg steps forward, the right one falters. And everywhere here and there’s laughing. But that isn’t all that’s happening. I thought about it afterwards and felt chagrined. I knew somebody, somewhere, was suffering. And as my brain bounces away from poking at the fat, I look this way and that, while others look distract. Ergo, I surmise following deliberation of fact: There’s no difference between the intellectuals and the mass. And as inspiration flows from my head to feet. I think I’m smarter than what I appear to be.