At sixes and sevens
Minds are avid part-time sleuths
half asleep with sensors set.
Whet by fret and tripped by threat,
laying bare conflicting truths.
Inside private polling-booths
clues are vetted, outcomes bet.
Living things which move need brains,
tuned response to changing world.
Evolution's path unfurled
specialized machine which trains.
Trial and error process strains
random information swirled.
Primed to spark at fresh events,
disregarding flat surround.
Honed for nature's battleground,
immanent expedience.
Guessing probable percents,
how an outlay may rebound.
Written language multiplies
borrowed wisdom won by few.
Sharing progress, facts accrue,
granting time to improvise.
Answer, hitchhikers advise;
seven sixes, forty-two.
Higher multiverse could be,
highest multiverse could not.
Only parts have timelines plot,
only parts have history.
Terminus infinity;
bright imaginary spot.
Diplomats use structured code,
speech and body language rules,
careful art and formal tools,
sharp negogiating mode,
knowing small mistakes corrode,
knowing poetry makes fools.
Lucky fools are we who meet
piquant puzzles unresolved.
Chance to practice skills evolved,
chance to flounder bittersweet.
Lucky us to know defeat.
Rue the day when all is solved.
poem by Diane Hine
Added by Poetry Lover
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