11 Nov 2018 poem

Origin Story

I walk to the plaza for a fork
full of some delectable
served from a weekend vender.
In the background competing musicians overlap
each others guitar chords,
not to discordance, but to a shaker of notes
to salt and spice my meal.

A thicket of people stroll the plaza.
We should be some lab experiment,
like mice or rats or—no one studies pigs
even though they are most like humans biologically.

With imagined farthings, halfpences and pennies
I stop at a stall and purchase
adjectives and adverbs, paraphrases,
a dependent clause, an improper pronoun
and so on, like purchasing jigsaw puzzle pieces
one at a time instead of in a box.

Faith says the pieces will fit together
into a poem, into a poem-like word collage
with the essential oil of blur
as bodies in motion freeze
in the shutter-snap of my cellphone-camera.

copyright © 2018 Kenneth P. Gurney


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