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Understanding Has A Taste
by Philip F De Pinto
There is no need to explain
What is plain
As the four
Noses on Mr. Rushmore
What's more
You don't get me, I said
And you've missed my train
Of thought again. Now you'll have to wait
For the next or the next
Which won't be arriving in the brain
Train for at least an hour.
Such is fate.
And what sways, what holds such power
Of persuasion or dissuasion as understanding having a taste
Akin to dill
Or sweet pickles, particularly when the train
Of thought that you missed purposefully has arrived at the hour
Of your own death?
Or birth, which was set
Carved on your forehead
Before you even had a forehead.
The exact hour
In fact, that you would be dead
Or born and safely esconced on a hill
Side or swaddle. That hour
Which knew,
Which was never anything to rue
Or to fret
Or sneeze at
As you would the fur of a cat
Or a rat
Which runs in a pack, as do
Wolves, as do cards, which you hold,
As a matter of fate, if not fact. Save of these
Packs you can only deal the latter
And never for a better deal,
Only fold.
01/18/2013 Posted on 01/18/2013
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto
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