To a New Season

There are many things, like onion rings

That need not exist at all

They sound so good, like scented wood

And not at all banal

Kits that check your DNA

To tell you how to eat

And yellow plastic warning tubes

The Town affixes to your street

Fried sticks of mozzarella

Scones that have no taste

Investors in stock markets

Almost all our waste

Vans with just one rider

Humans going to Mars

People owning land

Fast food joints and bars

All of our religions

Sports and candy corn

A thing called patriarchy

Only caring for unborn

Sticky traps for rodents

Racism and war

Uniforms and prisons

Words like slut and whore

Two senators per state

Regardless of population

Artificial boundaries

That separate each nation

Yes, we have made a lot of things

That have no rhyme or reason

I hope they wither on the vine

Giving birth to a new season



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Walk softly and carry a big schtick.