on the accidental alphabet of beauty…
You can’t understand how on earth
I lost the list you wrote to rescue me,
or the hammer ended up in the freezer,
or why my clothes look slept in,
rumpled like me, scattered
through inner and outer space,
other times focused pinpoint tight,
hot as the sunspot from a convex lens,
forgetting meals, sleep, whisker trims.
How did I ace English,
never grasping rules of grammar,
my A following Z unpredictably?
‘Ell iph I know’s the cross born
of elephant and rhinoceros.
How do you so surely know
exactly where you’re going,
the one place for each thing,
with I Ching in its place?
Your priorities are straight,
ducks in a roux,
the world your roster.
Why do puns annoy and
paradox confound you?
Have you never composed poetry
while stuck driving to work in rush hour,
or tripped on
the accidental
alphabet of beauty?
This poem is a list
of words
meant to
rescue you.
~ Wry Welwood,
late 20th century,
re-edited May 2021.
with thanks to Jessica Lee McMillan