word miffed

One day, I woke up and I said to words,

"Words, you have not been the comfort

I was hoping for."

And they taunted me.

Yes. They stuck their thumbs

up under their armpits and

ran around, bobbing their heads,

like baby chicks dyed in

unnatural colors for Easter.

I said to them, "Wait! I wanted to flop

on top of just one cursive 'm', or

sit for one minute leaning against

the line of a 'b'. It is only my intent

to forget our differences.

Can we not be comfortable,

the one with the other?"

And they laughed,

collapsed into rolly polly-looking

creatures, all grey lines,

blurring the distinction between

cylinder and sphere, and

rolled in a thousand directions.

It was time to turn into PACMAN. Time to lasso

the rounded words with a thought that lashed out

with fury. Time to jump down on the moving

obstacles till I got a thousand points.

But rather, I sat there

in the swirls of dust they left behind,

in the knowledge that truly

there would be no

gentle Mozart country dance.

"Words," I said, "You are beasts."