[N.B. This poem is a reaction to Mark Twain's notion that '[w]ar talk by men who have been in a war is always interesting; whereas moon talk by a poet who has not been in the moon is likely to be dull.' (source: Bartlett’s Book of Quotations, p.623 §16) .]
* * * * * * *
A crutch wedged in a thankful pit,
Close-gripped with a knurled fist
- Suspension bridge of pure grit -
Each reached plank, a pearled day.
Squirm in your seat and grind your teeth,
Rub your hands and set your jaw
Right when it takes you.
Life is rich with such variety.
Makes me itch with much anxiety
For liberal action.
Our lives, our souls – they're
Actually down here,
It starts with heart and vision,
Crisp voice of concision.
Such plain and precise demands:
Play-thing, swaddle, mother, scribble
Marketplace value is often found
Behind the wrinkles of the brown
Grab bags awaiting fresh owners,
Pal. You know the onus is yours.