Pardon Me!

No Letters, Just My Name

Why does your dribble
sound like scrambled eggs and hash?
a jumbled secret code
a salad chopped to bits
with no dressing, salt or spice?
Pardon me, I’m not an MFA.

At school the masters told you
to make it so obscure
I need a comb for lice
to scrounge for any life
or view its heads and tails?
Pardon me, it must be me!

Your parents must have
taught you, a trophy solves the pain
instructions must be followed
risk hurts the most in gain
and nodding gets you A’s.
Pardon me, I trust my rage.

Where did you learn to hide
the truthness of your soul
the whispers in your bones
the grasping at the straws
you need to lift your sights?
Pardon me, I use my heart.

Did you never hear
the songs real people sing
the words that hank their cry
the beats that itch their feet
or wailing from the scum?
Pardon me, I am the scum.

© 2022 Upp Gloggen, Inc.

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