The Poem Loses Its Credibility

The Poem Loses Its Credibility

When I use a word, it means exactly what I intend it to mean, no more, no less.
..............................—Humpty Dumpty

accuracy, I call it—the difference
between using their and there
correctly, in a sentence. Ultimately, you must
determine whether you're
expressing position or possession, as in the phrase
forever, you are mine—meaning I've
gathered the signs you've left on my heart like
hieroglyphs—as opposed to—
I've hewn you from stone with my trusted
jackhammer, my pick-axe rusted,
kinked from years of digging the wrong holes.
Location. Location. Location. I've found
myself spacing through the channel 10
news, thinking: Was the joke he just told rolling
on the teleprompter? You never know. That's the whole
problem with improvisation. All the
questions you're left with. Whether his
restaurant selection is fresh or another scene
stolen from an old script?
Trust me, he says. Only you know better. You
understand to interpret his statement as: my
Volvo left tracks in the sand still
wet with rain, so I'll find my way home,
X (your name changed for protection). Or, maybe
you should toss that letter, the one with "love" written a
zillion times—I didn't really mean that.