Know It All

I act like I know it all. But you,

you act like you know it all.

We can’t both be wrong. Still,

neither of us should have children.

Your head’s in a sack. In a sack

with a snake with two heads.

And my head is even older than

our initial calculations implied.

I know many names for sitting cross-legged,

none for never getting up again.

You, you speak as if you just checked,

but it’s not even up to you.

Fox pulls a rabbit out of a duck

and keeps the wound-up hounds upwind.

Hedgehog carries one trick around

like a small booth atop an elephant.

And both of us, elephant and booth,

carry from birth what can’t be cast off

by dying. How can we corrupt the young?

The young don’t even know we exist.