You can't do that unless you're on the list.
Tell me your hopes, desires, etc.
Then let me check them against the list.
Once upon a time, there was a list.
Through all the ages,
through every epoch and century,
the list endures.
Behold a lamb, stumbling through the verdant fields of April,
aware only of its mother's calm presence,
the sun warming its back,
and the list.
Those not on the list will be stopped,
tuned up,
seized and thrown from moving vehicles into ditches
where they may contemplate the majesty of the list.
In the Great Hall of the List,
a lamb clatters aimlessly across the marble floor.
Where is its mother?
Where are the dewy clover stalks,
the fragrant dawn-lit pasture,
the benevolent black-and-white dog, the lamb's guard and guide?
The list is silent.
You should be, too, except to sing its praises.
_____
for The Sunday Muse #101 and for day 6 of my 39 poems in 39 days.
