Mother wanted me to be
a nurse,
and help people
in their dotage;
I thought perhaps a Mountie,
or a public intellectual;
at the very least
a poet, or a sage.
In the cement mixer of life
all aspects, and aspirations,
get tossed around:
dishwasher,
night watchman,
fisherman,
miner,
sailor,
radio operator,
teletype operator,
crypto custodian,
archivist,
computer guy,
senior systems administrator,
retiree.
Looking back
down the path,
I understand now
that it is not the name
or nature of the job,
but the completion,
the satisfaction,
that it brings;
and the song
that life sings
in your saga.
Labels can be useful things
to warn, advise or list,
preventing tragic accidents
from allergens you may have missed.
Labels can tell you
what is real, and what is fake,
so you don’t use chemical carcinogens
when flavouring your cake.
In the toxic global scramble
for resources, cash, and perks,
why are economic, or military adventurism
the only tools in the works?
Labels can be useful things
to demonise one’s opponents:
alt-right, alt-left,
neo-this, neo-that,
sjw, loopy left,
anti-intellectual,
communist hack.
Our hatred of others is such
that it poisons all we touch.
Why can’t we drop the labels
and communicate instead?
Even our so-called enemies
have truths that must be said.
Let us discard all such labels;
let’s start talking face to face,
and proudly wear, together,
the label, “Human Race.”
