“I am worthless,” my friend sighed to me. “Oh, no,” I urged, “you are so worthy, so deserving.” My friend wanted to believe, but could not. “You are worthy,” I insisted again. This poem declares your worthiness:
rocks and ice in frozen space:
dazzling beacons of pulsing proton beams:
rainbow clouds, glowing, brilliant, birthing billions of bright suns:
gold dust, iron dust, plutonium dust, the stuff of supernova stars:
volcanoes bursting liquid stone to the skies, hot and hissing:
waters of life, boiling and crystalline, flowing, flowing:
the breath of God:
This poem is not an accusation of you, dear reader. Consider this poem as asking the question, What kind of person do I consider myself to be? Am I observant of my surroundings, or oblivious? Am I attentive to the needs of others, or uncaring? Do I hold the door for others, or do I go through first and let it shut behind me? When friends tell me about their successes and their struggles, do I one-up them with my own, or listen with excitement and empathy? Consider this poem as my quest, and my invitation, to live life showing more consideration, more kindness, greater courtesy, and more civility (as I’m sure you do, being readers and writers of poetry!).
You are the kind
that pisses on the toilet seat,
that unplugs your nose in the men’s shower,
that swerves slapdash through traffic without signal,
that leaves your soiled dishes on the table, swaggering off to your football.
You are that type,
the type that tramples the flowers
and does not see.