All We Really Ought to Get Around to Doing

Percussive flakes littered the ground
Around a good spot for a hearth.
A toolkit needs upkeep as much

As a body, as a village.
Fingering a sharp, fractured flake
In the mind, it’s easy to think

Even now, after centuries,
After that life and its children
And its children’s children and theirs

Have all been long, long gone, it was
Important to keep edges sharp.
If they hadn’t, they would have died.

There was a man in that valley
Known for his rare ability
To reproduce microlithics,

An odd specialty in our age.
Going to the grocery store
To get the right set of supplies

Will be odder, more forgotten
In time. Sitting out back, alone
In the sunset, whittling more poems.