When my body says bye to this stretch of the sky
And gets sunk in the dirt flowers bloom in
If I have to come back on some strange return track
I refuse to come back as a human.
A worm would be nice—any spore would suffice
Ferns that honor a tree as a steeple
I would love to be moss, or a snail’s slimy gloss
But I will NOT come back as a people.
There are billions of options much better than that
(A bird or a bat or a siamese cat)
Earth would not be the mess that it be in
With more of the creatures with laudable features
And less of the homo sapiens.
The Serious Mirth Society 