I act like I know it all. But you,
you act like you know it all.
We can’t both be wrong. Still,
neither of us should have children.
Your head’s in a sack. In a sack
with a snake with two heads.
And my head is even older than
our initial calculations implied.
I know many names for sitting cross-legged,
none for never getting up again.
You, you speak as if you just checked,
but it’s not even up to you.
Fox pulls a rabbit out of a duck
and keeps the wound-up hounds upwind.
Hedgehog carries one trick around
like a small booth atop an elephant.
And both of us, elephant and booth,
carry from birth what can’t be cast off
by dying. How can we corrupt the young?
The young don’t even know we exist.