It is easy enough to pass judgement over something
as nonspecific as a cloud,
Oh, there, can you see it? I hear you squeal so loud.
It’s like a clock without a face, without an actual dial!
You peal into giggles at the notion,
delighted you are, so well.
You smile widely to yourself,
without knowing you’ve passed judgement
on something as important as
a passing puff of Heaven’s breathiness
as she opens her heart and soul to something that is detailed in curves,
you are amazed by the configuration that wells and swells.
Sweetheart, will you take a look at this?
I present you with a picture book,
it’s your favourite, remember,
the one Auntie sent from New Orleans?
With the mouse that can’t be squashed by
the left hand of a violin’s caressed neck,
he must remain living,
and explore all his adventures with
a great and fervent need while dodging Death.
Why is he so smelly? you ask, holding your nostrils,
as though there is a great pong.
Sweetheart! I exclaim, aghast.
Why would you think like that, to do so is very wrong!
There are no signs within this picture book that show his scent is untoward, and I request your explanation:
why is it that you assumed his scent was?
It is because he is brown
and his fur looks very dirty, you explain,
tenuto on the d, like deh… deh… deh…
smelly, dirty little mouse, pong!
You start laughing as you say these words freely.
And now I see how easy it is for you to make an assumption,
based on a simple interpretation
that opens up doors of certain inappropriateness,
but for you, sweetheart, you are not wrong in the slightest,
for you have expressed your thoughts and yourself in a manner that suits you the finest.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
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