Indecision

Here's just one version of a poem today.  (My son said I was being too indecisive by posting two versions.)  The topic of the poem is indecision and being in a position where you could go this way or that.  It's also a silly experiment in seeing where rhyme takes you.

         Indecision


If I were a whirlpool on the Equator,
                 which way would I whirl?
Or a drunk between two toilet,
                  into which would I hurl?
Or a ballerina wearing a diamond tiara on stage at Lincoln Center with Baryshnikov (in his prime) on my right and Nureyev (still alive and in his prime) on my left
               to whom would I twirl?
Like iron filings beneath ever-circling magnets,
               I’m all swirl and counterswirl –
Until I find the oyster
             which makes me its pearl.



Note to foreign readers:  Hurl is slang meaning to vomit, something drunks often due.
General note:  It's my vague memory that whirlpools, tornadoes, and water going down a drain rotate in one direction in the southern hemisphere and another in the northern.  The constant question in high school science class was what they did on the Equator.  Did they have a choice?