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I much prefer the company
of those whose expectations lean
toward outcomes of prosperity

inclined, each day, to gravitate
toward what might be
the greatest of societies

which cannot even hope
to be if I degrade toward what
has been, or murder with comparison

replacing I don’t know with sure
is far less pained a leap for me
than that of no to mediocrity

and when they carve my epitaph
or scatter carbon bits across
some vast untrammeled sea

somebody with unguarded heart
will catch a passing phrase
of overweening, slightly corny,
loudly rhyming poetry
and wonder—was that me?


© Elaine Stirling, 2015