Same as You, by James Tate

[novapsyche]

I put my pants on one day at a time.
Then I hop around in circles hobbledehoy.
A projectile of some sort pokes me
in the eye--I think it's a bird
or a flying pyramid that resembles a bird.
Well it sure hurts and I'm swelling
even in areas where it's inappropriate
such as my cupola, also my cup of tea.
Flapdoodle is my middle name so I know
two specks about what's coming next:
the leopard's spots and their humorous sayings.
There are those who would suggest that
I am hog-tied and frequently late to work.
To which I reply: Indeed I am.
As a former ranchero and postmodern
farmerette I think we can speak freely
of the current crisis--the soil is creeping
out from under us and the haycocks
appear lubberly. If it's true
that you can judge a man's character
by the shape of his sandcastle,
then I say you are a squint-eyed stormy petrel,
and I a piebald crabstick,
which is like a dream come true.
We're practically carved out of the same carrot.
I for one can barely tell where I trail off
and you begin, since human beings are reported
to be ninety-eight percent duct tape
and feathers anyway. It's hard
to pull the pants on over all of this debris,
and once the greensward has been wrenched
into shape the going is so smooth
it's almost like not going at all.
Where have I been, where have I been?
Thus I was led into paths I had not known.