set the metronome
on sixty beats per minute, children,
stay on the beat and count,
by twos, to thirty. ready . . . go . . . two . . . four . . .
six . . . eight. very good. now, on the beat,
count to thirty-one, by by twos,
beginning on one. ready . . . go . . . one . . . three . . .
five . . . seven. and the class loses the beat
and sputters to a halt.
evens are tulips. odds are orchids.
evens are all is right with the world.
odds are finding beauty in unexpected places.
evens are the smooth.
odds are having to work a little harder to get there.
how i loved the even numbers,
so easily managed, and how disturbing i found the odds.
until, one magical day i found the fulcrum,
there, in the center, and i felt
as one feels when they put on a shirt
fresh out of the dryer on a cold winter day—good.
now i play on the upbeat, on the and,
just to do it, not often, my life is off beat enough as it is,
but enough to, oh, i don't know, do it. that's all, just to do it. to feel good.
there is no reason to fears the odds,
but we do, some of us.
happy endings and landing on the tonic
comes naturally. it doesn't
have to be that way, hansel and gretel could have
not found their way out of the woods
and landing on a tonic seventh has been known to happen.
i'm feeling a little at odds.
what i feel isn't worth fretting over.
there are bigger things, world peace and so on.
this little bit of odd, it happens.
it has happened before. it will happen again.
Poetry by one trick pony
Read 572 times
Written on 2015-08-03 at 23:41
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