Thinking About Popocatepetl

I should be thinking of a lot of things:

The reason people play the piccolo.

How high is up? What happens if I fall

when I’m already fallen on the ground?

Or why is Carmen San Diego lost?

And figgy pudding! Why would anyone

consider figgy pudding? After all

it’s something after Dickens, isn’t it?

Or thinking, circumspectly, “What the fig?”

It isn’t like there’s any reason to

have thought about a lot of things except

consider the alternatives. If I

would think about the problems of the world

I soon would be a lunatic. I’d scream

about polluters; rave about the rot

infecting politicians. Rail about

iniquities while knowing I’m to blame

as much as anyone. And so, instead

I choose some other things to think about

like growing figs for making fig-leaf tea

instead of growing figs for eating figs;

or worrying about my driveway cracks

and do they mean an earthquake’s coming soon;

or there’s another Popocatepetl

that will cover up my house and home.

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