Classic Poem

A friend sent a pipe made
from petrified sea foam,
froth that was life’s first home.
A bearded craftsman’s blade

carved it into the face
of man: the progeny
of an amoeba, the
image of his race.

It sits for all to see,
like a bust on the shelf:
in-cognizant of self,
yet part of the same sea,

its beauty and its scars,
its yellow stain and reek,
the wrinkle on its cheek:
the stuff of dreams and stars.