Sloth’s Reverie

(for Theodore Roethke)

 

They call me a philosopher;
you ask a question,
I take a year to answer.
You think
I give you time to reach your own conclusion.

They call me a sage;
I am slow and still,
10,000 steps takes me ages.
You think
I am just hanging still,
let the world comes to my stage.

They call me a thinker;
you see
I lower my head,
doze off all the time.
No strength; little, I ever eat.
stick my head up is a rare feat.
You think
I am thinking overtime,
like Rodin’s “The Thinker.”

​

They call me a saint;
you see
I let in fungi, insects, moths, algae…
never complain.
I use them as camouflage.
You think
I embrace all the dirtiest, filthiest,
poor of the poorest,
like Mother Teresa.
 

They call me a prophet;

not like Kahlil Gibran,

standing loud and tall.

You see

my head up, my head down,

I spend half of my life hanging upside down.

You think

I know that’s how this world gets the job done.