How was my day?

Well, earlier I overheard someone say,
“There is not much point to poetry—
What a waste of time;
Of life.”

Maybe so,
But to whose time
Or life were they referring?
Certainly not mine.

I wonder what else they find arbitrary—
Skipping childishly up the garden path
To the front door while befriending a tree?
Juggling two apples and an orange
From the kitchen fruitbowl?
Encores? Applause, even?
One minute of silence?

What is achieved...