Glaring Back at the World

Being so tuned to faces,
Tones of voice, body language,
But above all to the least

Indication of intent
In fellow human beings,
Makes it hard not to believe

There’s malice in gravity,
Or kindness in a soft breeze.
And why wouldn’t you think so?

After thousands of cycles
Of perishing or thriving
Thanks to how well ancestors

Could read each other, hopeless
Without each other’s support,
The human environment

Being the environment
Of humans, what did nature
Expect, except a being

Tending to read everything
As emotional affect,
As deliberate intent?

If mind-reading’s the one skill
The beast’s been selected for,
Every problem is a mind.