Here’s me looking at you.
Here’s you looking at me.
You’re clinging to the window screen;
I’m still clinging to my notions.
You know this screen’s a thing
That’s easy to run about
And catches lots of bugs
You feed upon.
I think it’s an artifact
Made expressly for my need
To keep bugs out, and you,
With your startling motions.
Your fate is that you’re stuck
With how you have evolved,
And don’t ask why, but get by
On instinct and luck.
I’m in love with my notions . . .
That’s the way I’ve evolved . . .
But whether I am getting by
Is open to debate.
