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Saturday, November 13, 2010

You (I wanted to write a poem starting with “Why”)

Why is it I
can’t? You leave it
alone, but I
know I can’t. It’s
the OCD in me
to rearrange everything. I
have sorted the sordid
big details of when. We
got together
by an ascending order
then. I
ruined it with a “Why?”
and “Ever since...” We
descended
numerically
back to one, and I
am still flipping
through the why’s.

2 comments:

Eileen T O'Neill ..... said...

Francis,

Well a bit of an upset, with yourself. All the whys, I's and you's.
Francis, YOU must assert control!!!

Don't ask me WHY.....

Fantastic word play, self-inflicted....

Eileen :)

Francis Scudellari said...

Hi Eileen,
Yes, all my troubles are self-inflicted, but at least I know who to blame that way :).