The Theory of Darwinian Natural Selection

He combed his brows
And laid his eyes to rest
The spectacles dropped
His nose bridge was marked
Fingers clasped plastic
And put glass in its position

(a sure obstruction otherwise
if it were not for his need)

Eye brows turned crooked
Eyes had a knowing gleam
Spectacles stayed their own
The bridge let waters run
Fingers felt thin paper
As he read in a fixed pose

(a trance of sorts, meditative
if it weren’t for moving eyes)

Looking up; he did do so
A window- framed world
Looked back at him, stared
As he did gaze at the trees
If they had voices they’d say,
“Please do not look so strange.”

(but trees have no voices
we know of, but imagine they did)

His once combed brows
Now so naked in disarray
Pondered their existence
What they could do,
Given the situation -
Never truly functional
Never truly useful, now old
And ruddy in the middle

(they did not respect nature
for nature had been meaningless)

An eighty five year old soul
Drew air into an old body
Such times require contemplation
So he did; thinking very hard
The wavered brows indicated
Pain pilled in difficult capsule

(they said he was useless
that’s what was said, useless)

He combed his brows
And laid his eyes to rest
The spectacles dropped
His nose bridge was marked
Alas his eyebrows felt useful
They’d caught his forehead’s tear

(they held the moisture
and didn’t let go until it dried)