WHO CARES

Who cares should Lizzo play Madison’s flute?
Who cares if Velma thinks girls are cute?
The matter’s becoming increasingly moot:
Who cares? Who cares? Who cares?

Who cares what happened in fashion today?
Who cares what the talking heads might say?
What’s hip in one moment, in another’s passé:
Who cares? Who cares? Who cares?

Who cares for the President’s upcoming speech?
Who cares for a flower on a polluted beach?
(My mother was right: I’m simply a peach.)
Who cares? Who cares? Who cares?

You’ve probably discovered
this is no love letter.
I’m simply asking
that we improve and do better
by caring for things
that should mean a lot
instead of caring for things
that we feel that we ought —
things that rob our attention and time,
our music and art and lyrics that rhyme.

Who considers a world nihilistic at best?
Who considers a world extremely distressed?
I pose the question, inexorably pressed:
Who cares? Who cares? Who cares?

Who cares about moments you’ll never get back?
Who cares about caring for things that you lack?
Who cares for the want and the try and the fail?
Who cares to let go when your dreams have set sail?
Who cares about glances and voices and touch?
Who cares for the feelings coming in clutch
once you have learned you love living too much?

Who cares?
I care.
I care.

Copyright © 2022 John Grimmett. All rights reserved.

Unless otherwise indicated, all materials on these pages are copyrighted by the author. All rights reserved. No part of these pages, either text or image may be used for any purpose other than personal use. Therefore, reproduction, modification, storage in a retrieval system or retransmission, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise, for reasons other than personal use, is strictly prohibited without prior written permission.