Song of Welcome
Here’s your mom, here’s your dad.
Welcome to being their flesh and blood.
Why do you look so sad?
Here’s your food, here’s your drink.
Also some thoughts, if you care to think.
Welcome to everything.
Here’s your practically clean slate.
Welcome to it, though it’s kind of late.
Welcome at any rate.
Here’s your paycheck, here’s your rent.
Money is nature’s fifth element.
Welcome to every cent.
Here’s your swarm and your huge beehive.
Welcome to the place with its roughly five
billion like you alive.
Welcome to the phone book that stars your name.
Digits are democracy’s secret aim.
Welcome to your claim to fame.
Here’s your marriage, and here’s divorce.
Now that’s the order you can’t reverse.
Welcome to it; up yours,
Here’s your blade, here’s your wrist.
Welcome to playing your own terrorist;
call it your Middle East.
Here’s your mirror, your dental gleam.
Here’s an octopus in your dream.
Why do you try to scream?
30 April 2017
Welcome at any rate
(The first half of Joseph Brodsky's Song of welcome. I would love to recite this someday, somewhere to some or someone, maybe read it to my niece once she's grown up.)
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