CIRCLING A TREE

Circling a tree

round and round,

philosophy’s game,

At first

you walk ahead.

I come after.

As we walk,

somehow

I’m ahead,

you’re behind.

Odd positions

keep shifting,

who can say why?

I wait at the stop,

the bus comes, everyone shoving to be first.

I’m last.

I join a protest,

the riot squad arrives,

I’m pushed up front.

Upstairs at the gallery

I meet the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood,

downstairs the postmodernists.

The fellow in front

says he’s post-post-youth.

The one behind claims he’s avant-avant-garde.

Maybe this is the reason

trees

never walk.

Circling a tree

round and round

makes one dizzy.