Hobbies?

When English, just coltish,

was trotting around medieval isles,

a hoby was a small, busy horse

that went nowhere. Ah, then

came the hobbyhorse, a child's

plaything, wicker or wood.

Another horse that went nowhere--

and anywhere in the kid's mind.

Look: we need more hobbies,

as we wait for the revolution

we want or dread. Hobbies 

instead of screeching hateful

things, badgering strangers,

firing guns, or guzzling swill

brewed by cults and hustlers.

Yep, carve wood, stitch lace,

raise ancient cars from the tomb

of rust, brood over chess, thump

guitars or keyboards, water

family trees, horde shoe-horns.

More stuff we do should go 

nowhere like a hoby. There's

nowhere to go anyway. We're

just here, Earth. Keep it tidy,

settle in, find something pleasant

about which to obsess

like that aunt of yours who

lived in a hive of Elvisiana.

In your hobby hide from

your worst self, advertisers,

and those who wish no one well. 

hans ostrom 2021