Endowed with amazing powers
to understand the fate
of the average man--counting the hours
between too early and too late,
hoping to see the median
touch the mean.


Keeping expectations just so,
Not very high, not very low
so that everyone can be
a success,
with a middling of effort and
a shade of finesse
we can all wear the cape.


Bouncing from grade to grade
in exact planned order,
mostly white, though looking
South to the border
not for long, we raise
our 1.8 children and live
our 72.6 years (unless you graze
the upper end, you lucky dears)
and hope for just enough trouble
that life might bubble a bit,
but not boil.


We dream ourselves miraculous,
spectacular, well-read,
looking to marry better than
well, sometimes getting lucky,
Captains Whitebread, we all sail from
moderation to moderation
hoping to see better than average
without really trying
especially hard.


We move from Monday to Sunday,
some rising, some settling
to the comfortable middle,
fighting against
the attractive extremes
that spell our doom,
knowing that a little more,
a little less, is the key
to our success,
our mean,
our bliss.