Older than iron, Older than vice
The way you trap us, us crushables,
Under your hobnail toe and heel.
You drain us with your quenchless suckery,
You ha-ha rich, you pow-powerful.
Harder than prisons, colder than calculus
The way you catch us, the way we bow low
and still you slay us — no mercy
Or we spit back, and still you slay us
no mercy no quarter.
Older than blood, Older than oil
You count no gods but gold
Age upon age, rage upon outrage,
the human tragi-comedy
That is the humor of it, older than sorrow.
Like a dandelion many
we pop up, the rest of us, sun yellow, sun bold
To claim your cool green lawns.
With our dent de lion, we come against you.
Call us piss-a-bed, swine-snort, doon-head-clock,
Still we come against you, both taraxos and àkos
Disorder and remedy, riot and restoration
We shine like buttons on the breasts
Of marching bands, of marching armies,
Risen and perennial.
Even our old ones, gray and pale, cargo-ed with seed
Dispatch themselves to ride against you,
astride the wind,
Puff-blown and dangereux.
— RRC 2017