Cavemen

I wonder if cavemen worried
if their kids would ever leave home,
hoped their daughters would find decent guys to marry

bragged about the size of their club.
What were beer bellies called?

I wonder if the women
looked at their reflection
in the still water at river’s edge
and worried about their nails,
their hair, their wrinkles;

wondered if their men would come home
before the fire died and some thief
would come, and steal them away in the dark,

did they teach their children that sticks and stones
will break bones?
but words …

did two plus two matter?

Who were their heroes?
Did their generation need a Gandhi, or a King?

Did they have wars where thousands died
in extermination camps for an ideal …

What was the sound of love,
were rainbows brighter?

Who were these cavemen we are so ashamed
to claim as ancestors? They resemble us so much,

So much still depends on a club.