A Pair of Darwin's Finches

It’s almost ironic now to ponder evolution,
and even more to teach it.
A bored room of twenty-something
ninth graders with their hands
plastered to the sides of their faces,
sleeping.

You’ll come to mind.
Not because you believed it,
in fact you're in fervid opposition.
As I gesticulate its components,
I’ll smile.

You never knew
how I would think about us.
How everyone insisted we were the same,
but we knew that we were different,
and I, being the logical one,
thought of evolution.
Your caustic behavior reminds me
of punctuated equilibrium.
Your decisiveness and the way you spoke
like you write
and write how you feel.
No finesse - that you could do without.
And the way your emotions ran
quickly and slowly at the same time.
And there were even moments
when they’d flatten out and I’d
wonder where you’d gone.
‘Cause you certainly weren’t
the same person.

And I like gradualism.
Growing at a steady pace,
monotonous in my ways
and thoughts.

We’d butt heads and kick
up the dirt in anger.
But when the dust settled
we were always unscathed.

After my students have gone,
rushing out at the dismissals ring.
I’ll realize it’s been too long
since you’ve called
or I’ve called.

No matter how hard we resisted change,
speciation took its course
and we were isolated.
Separately.
I can't tell you when or how
just that we are.
Maybe it was inexorable;
maybe we brought it upon ourselves.