The sun that scorches your forehead
Is the sun that dried your clothes
But the forehead is not as burdensome
As the laundrywoman’s load
The wind that ravages your hairdo
Is the wind that absolves your fart
A belch won’t ruin your day
And hairdos won’t break your heart
But need we prefer the better sun
Or the kinder wind?
The gentle enemy, or the bitter friend?
Could we choose, as we choose what to wear,
Not to care when the last care departs—
Between the truth that sets us free
And the truth, the one that hurts?