Some days, your face is full of scowls,
and on others when weather
is either pleasant or dire,
your features soften a little;
soft sentiment sometimes
seem to spread from
smooth trouble-free foreheads
and carelessly dimpled cheeks,
leaving arms full of hugs.
Some days, i’ll string complex words together
seamlessly and a tad extravagantly
without even knowing
where they came from;
i often think i’ve made a word up
as it springs from a place
i thought i had recklessly discarded it,
but in a moment of sentimental
weakness or strength, i never know which,
just stashed away.
Some days, i’ll spit out words and gestures
which don’t want to come out,
they’re quite happy to sit in those
dank dusty cupboards and
on those wonky webbed shelves in sheds.
But they are obliged to be put into action,
to meet common convention.
The quintessential and slightly crude
American expression comes to mind
to terminate my disdain-
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game”
M. W.
9/1/10
