“Thought Naught” by Anita Wender

As I switched on the TV, I thought about
numbed brain cells
and how Socrates kept sharp by his own petard
enough to cut holes in ruling theories
by rubbing against the grain.

He could have swallowed words instead of hemlock
but the poison would have worked
still shutting him down.

His days could have been many
sunsets over the Aegean
and mine now looking east
counted by ideas and eloquence are few,
small courages to face dislike or death.