Snippet First Thing

An un-working brain, a faulty mind;
clumsy hands to grip with,
broken eyes to see with;
no innards to work with
beyond what was given at birth —

no extrasensory perception;
nothing to see in future
or far away, anyway — just
this:

one poem, one snippet
of notice and care; maybe
just of notice? Maybe caring
is too much to ask of me;
it’s possible I cared too much
in the past and now I am being
laughed at.

Maybe I should laugh
at myself too. There are bushes
in the rain outside that will be there
after I’m gone, after all.
Pay your attention there;
it will come back to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T