Too Young to Care

The Earth’s just past puberty but

pimples haven’t stopped rising

nor the plates from popping lava

upon examination of her face

the rain promptly washes away

the oil and while in the sun

she shakes her hair all about

trees are flung to and all over

she sees not, nor cares so 

about the greasy microcosms

that gather in her pores

the more she scrubs the faster

they return till she’s too old

to care and too tired to spin.

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