Why can’t everybody be just like me?
We wouldn’t have nasty spinach; it would be considered a weed.
Music playing everywhere a la Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Grieg.
There wouldn’t be gyms for basketball, just roller skating rinks,
And lots of meandering nature trails, but only in town, I think,with resting stations every mile-- clean, iced water to drink.
We would all get up in the morning, by seven on holidays.
In the early evening, we’d say goodnight and go our separate ways.
Nobody would stay out after eleven, on those dark and dangerous streets.
Nobody would climb
There would be no boxing meets.
We would all enjoy the poetry of Tennyson and Keats.
Computers would be everywhere, each person would have his own.
Nobody would waste time with TV; nobody would answer the phone.
There’d be a plethora of house plants, and scheduled time to read.
Rooms piled high with mystery books, and an occasional biography,
And maybe a little Gothic romance, if the era was Regency.
No crowds, no noise, no shopping malls, no traffic, no large cities.
No stinky ferrets, no anacondas, no allergy causing kitties.
If everybody were like me, I think we’d have no wars.
There would be no need for borders; nor locked and bolted doors.
We’d all be happy with what was ours; we wouldn’t be needing yours.
But then again.
Would we have any “what was ours” without the great explorers
The reckless and the fearless ones, the "peace and quiet" deplorers,
The policemen, the inventors, the sellers and the buyers,
People who can change the oil, and air up all the tires,
Farmers and Ranchers, Risk-takers and Try-ers?
It’s interesting to ponder over what the world would be.
If nobody were like you, my Dear, and everyone were like me.