boxing gloves and pink shades

sometimes I feel as though I walk around motivated by what i don't like that i see, ready to fight wearing my pink shades.

"we'll be pushing up roses by next spring, once we get through with you world!"

other times, i walk with fists-pumping, heart breaking, but unable to keep my wrists up, so heavy are the gloves that want to fight.

but why always these gloves? why am i perpetually looking for battle, for a status quo to criticize and subvert? what if i walked around with a garden hose to nourish what i liked? there really cannot be so little that i like. and good isn't scarce, it's just the the bad is blooming from behind these blue shades i sometimes wear.

but what if i were to put down the clubs, keep the shades, but carry a hose? i mean, a hose could put out fires too, if i really felt like a fight.