WHY must I tell him
A hundred thousand
Thousand times,
Until my breath is worn down to ashy traces through the flue
Or I am forced to stumble down to the sidewalk
And pretend like I am hunting for lost dimes?
Even then he will not hear.
OR if he hears, he will not listen
Though a hundred thousand
Thousand times
I’ve wrestled him with words and pleas,
Sometimes wondering if he was worth my energy
And my words that drone on for lines and lines and lines,
Only repeating myself.
Some days I wonder to myself
(If I am in a pessimistic humor)
DO we even speak the same tongue?
Or when I talk, he hears the same,
But understands the opposite?
Other days
(If I am in an optimistic humor)
IT IS: I wonder what he sees in eyes
And souls and flights of flitting fancy,
Or if he even sees at all with eyes
Like mine or yours or hers? I know—
MAYBE if I ask another way
Or pose the quest anew
(Shall I stand upon the moon as it flies on by the earth?
or the edge of a turning, churning tide?)
His eyes will light with comprehension
And I won’t feel such a fool.
IF that won’t work, I’ll tell again
A hundred thousand
Thousand times. Perhaps—
NOT.
Maybe I’ll just draw a picture instead.
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