Trying to deal with us down here
What their reports must say
To the higher-ups about our inner grasp
Of the situation of limited space
And time the larger question like
What is that lighthouse doing over there
Or that cavity where the ego like a boy’s
Laughter is carried across
The canyon of confusing words
I feel sorry for them
The Great Mothers who labor
So their children can play
And maybe even learn something
At that uppity school they pay
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