On we rush to New Year’s open doors
Hurried by the dropping ball atop
towers of brand names and amid throngs
of tourists from Earth’s every curved corner
And yet, we are unaccomplished
in our resolutions of peace and pounds. We weigh our thoughts on the scales
of global injustice and pardoned dreams.
What is it that keeps us hopeful
from year to year? Is Pandora still locked away in her spotified box,
beating her beatle drums for release?
With only a handful of days to go,
will the spice cupboard finally be cleaned and the dog bathed? Will the old plastic
lids and their mismatched bowls unite?
If we were to start walking toward Mecca,
will we arrive by sundown? Can iris grow through a blanket of snow?
I hear the kazoos warming up.
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