Evolution

When the curtain rises unsteadily,
or is pulled aside in a grating sweep,
or the whistle blows or music starts...
there they are, each precious to a few:
all corralled, some coerced, some content
or catatonic, some frozen in their tap shoes,
or chin straps loose and helmets askew,
some barely able to wait to start the race,
and one who already has! That one’s yours.
The one who doesn’t bow, but weeps.
The one picking his nose. There but for the grace.
One who wanders. One who freezes.
One who waves!!!! One who fumbles the ball.

The rites are tamer now in the pageant,
the concert, the game, the recital hall:
We will not gather on the solstice to watch Kristi C.
impaled in her tutu, or tossed, twirling, into the volcano.
Still we offer ours up to the common weal,
the common story, hoping for the best.
See which ones come through, though?
The ones who fly above the rest?
The ones who roar among the same?
These we applaud and hold up as our own.
These are security, and the future,
and our validation, and our glory!
But did you see poor... oh, what a shame.

DOL
2023