Rituals Poem by Mark Heathcote

And I am not talking about self-flagellation or scarification.
I am talking about small things—the little rituals we make.
When you want to save the world today, what do you do?  
Do you separate your waste? Give up driving diesel too.
There are rituals to even tying a shoe; what do you do?  
Chewing gum: is it incidental how you fold the silver paper?
Brush your teeth, get paid monthly, and pay your bills.
Work even harder, getting nowhere only older.
We're all exposed to rituals; don't forget to iron your clothes.
Walk the dog, flea-powder the cat, and whisper a prayer.
To never- get an answer, take that once-a-year break.
By the ocean, hoping, hoping the sun will always shine
Rituals, rituals, rituals—don't forget that bucket and spade.
The kite string was tangled, and Dad's white burnt feet were in sandals.
Come Christmas, kiss your mother under the mistletoe.
Arguing about the flavour of a pistachio ice cream
All you want to do as a child is scream!  
Rituals, rituals, rituals—don't they make you blue?
Morning rituals, like going to school like a lonely cloud
Like-shouting: when you're older, the kids are too loud.