Nobody has any idea what they’re doing
Some pretend better than others
But rest assured: it is a ruse.
Our backs are sore
Because sons of monkeys
Still struggle to walk upright
The necessary adaptations
Are imperfect at best
(Also: there’s way too much going on
Around our mouths and throats
Close this flap to drink but open it to breathe?
How are we not always choking?)
For ten-thousand years
Our greatest feat
Was knowing
Which predators could be killed with spears
And which to flee in fear
Do you truly think
Anybody knows the perfect way
To file their taxes
Or keep safe from identity theft
On the internet
Or a foolproof strategy
To build a personal brand
Upon the shifting landscape
Of global social media
It’s amazing we manage to get out of bed
Without being killed by wolves
I write this on a telephone
While sitting on a chair
That automatically reclines
And is covered all in soft, tanned hide
The room is warm
The floor is dry
Somehow, this all works
Despite many reasons why
Statistically, I should be a mammoth’s lunch
So
It may take a little longer
For me to respond to your email
I’m consumed with the delight
Of being alive
