I know there’s a part of my brain that
Doesn’t want quesadillas to have Heinz baked beans,
That wants computers to have more memory.
It thinks that shoes should be black,
Unless you’re a girl,
That cars should start,
Banks should look after your money.
Americans shouldn’t speak French,
But they should speak English so much better.
People should be thin,
And funny and warm and kind.
Except when they’re not and then
I should be angry.
Sometimes I wish people would put down their differences,
But that’s not the thing.
People should speak whatever dialect they want,
And wear pyjamas to the mall,
And eat so much it makes them sick,
Or let their dog piss in their hall.
Who am I to tell people what to do,
Even that they should put down their hatred,
And accept each other just as they are?