Untitled Poem

In the ragtime of the mind will you or I be left behind?

You will ask a question. And how will I surround it?

Like a pintid aboriginal with dance and shouts and childlike derision?

Or simply lurk around it in embarassed indecision?

If I had posed the question first, how would you respond?

Or would you answer it at all?

Like trees in poorly planted arbors, we compete for distant light.

Neither you or I can grow so it is time for me to go.