by David Mook

Clichés are odd ducks, especially
when you get them all in a row.
Think about it, one minute we’re
told to be the early bird and the next

thing you know, somebody is killing
two of them with a single stone, as if
that’s a good thing. All without a word
of warning for the bird or the worm.

Dare to ask, “Who’ll cast the first stone?”
You’ll have a line waving big Styrofoam
fingers, all wanting to be number one.
It’s hard to tell sometimes if mankind

is a single oxymoron, or many morons?
And why is a kind man so hard to find?
Perhaps we’re hiding from kindness, since
so many have already been killed with it.

And why do acts of kindness have to be
so random? Why not try some new clichés,
like two kindnesses with a single gesture?
Sadly, I don’t think that dog’s gonna hunt.

But then again, what can make less sense
than killing anything at all with a stone,
or with any other thing for that matter?
Is it because Death has become so cliché,

or is it for some other lack of reason that we
are always inventing new cliches for killing
and for death, as if, like sitting ducks, we
could kill them both with a single cliché?