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The myths are not due until monday; We write them as though Our lives depended on it. Carefully Choosing our words, we pursue What we're trying to know About. Our fathers knew Different things, not exactly Myths (Their lives Are unreal the way streets in the early Morning are) but points of view That barely survive To be learned: a verse or two From an old song and such. Now, though, We are learning heroes. The difficult assignment is to know What they meant. Their mythical lives Are the words we choose To be judged by. They survive By being known, passively Staying true Like myths, not due until Monday.

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