Winslow Homer, Eight Bells, 1887
The tall coiled sorcerer and the morose greengrocer
Made a date to eviscerate a marmoset
That had not paid his dang grocery bill yet;
Those caught watching from the street corner
Were entirely fascinated by the morose greengrocer.
In the insidious plots of the haves and have-nots
Two dollops of thought can go a long way
T’ward permanently boxing the seat of the plot;
If your instinct is that your instinct is right
Then go ahead and fly your sky-blue kite.
You put a heap of chaos with just a little order
Suddenly regular citizens think they’ve
Sorted the disorder, got it backed into a corner
But the jeering meanness rolling back up at you
Is simply the Universe and you're not its keeper.
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