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In The Park

 


Girl in the park, among the trees
white in the eternal city light
gathering his genes inevitably
as the soil absorbs the rain.
Boy in the park, buttocks like breasts
driven by the same ancient urge
that rabbits and pigeons daily play
on this same summer grass.

Sometimes life is as simple as that,
obsessed with the pleasure
bequeathed in the gene,
not always within the taming cool
of that thinking spark we carry too.

A small cry in the trees.
A cat’s mew?
A night bird flying
a churchyard dance?
A new life bursting;
the eternal genes
mixing and changing enough
for the species to survive.

As simple as that,
and as complex
as the double helix.
The program passes
from one to another
written and honed over
a million years or more
by
the program
itself the programmer
and
the gene.

 

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