Duets on a Donkey Cart

Bandwagons make you cranky. Sure:
everybody’s mad at everybody else’s
hanky-panky: no surprise. Hardly

something to alert the eyes. But
rivers and recycling and the polar
bears and drug abuse and prejudice

against so many populaces of such
endlessly profuse diversity that you
lose track of who hates whom before

you’ve had a chance to think which
faction wants a warrantable portion
of your hide with more clear justice

than another: this notion that you’re
every creature’s brother starts to pale.
You feel no close relation to a whale.

You suppose it may come down
to this: do you entirely accept that
anything exists? If so, it arguably

argues for – entails – commitment
to engage: yet somehow manage not
to get inseminated by the rage. Bands

on wagons breed such loud self-
righteous greed. Maybe duets on
a donkey cart are more your speed.


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