see the little two flit
and splash, kicking 
and flapping and looking
to me like they know
the best thing to do
on a morbid hot day
when everything 
presses against you
and you feel time as an 
illusion alluding to
your eventual end
and why does it matter
anyway because our hand
basket is gaining speed
is shake it off 
in this place together
while I, inside these
pristine walls, wonder
from my window 
do they know or
do they even care
(or do they possibly prefer)
it’s dirt?

—————————————————

 

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

– From To Be of Use by Marge Piercy