The frizzy white Afro of a thin man in black
Motorcycle leathers—and with an extraordinarily
Long and scraggly white beard past his ribs—
Bobbed gently in the breeze from an overhead
Heating vent at the crowded cellphone store.
Just to see him swaying there patiently,
Waiting for a customer service representative
To help him solve his connection problems,
A giant, mutant dandelion wispy and ready
To be blown to seedlings and wafted away,
Caused a thousand adjectives and not a few
Adverbs to bloom in this observing brain,
This equally frizzy, freighted, and swaying brain.
Whatever will become of us humans,
Creatures ornamenting our shells
With creations no one of us created,
Recreating us? Already our ornaments
Are almost all that’s left of us, have been
Almost all we’ve left of us for millennia,
And soon enough, like this, will become us.
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