April First

Fools day comes
and goes
every year,
a cycle rounding,
one spoke speaking twirling
turning round and around
and the wheels go,
and the world goes,
and we go,
and we mark the season,
the year,
the year’s end and spring, renewing,
and everyone’s a fool,
not just those who hold on to the past,
but those who don’t remember a whit of it,
and plunge along onto the same circuit
they’ve ever traveled,
as though each new go round
is actually new,
and not merely a deeper carving
of the same old spin.