the curious enigma
so bold in its tempestuous confrontation.
Oh, I’ve searched for a definitive answer,
a satisfactory resolution,
a logical solution,
or simply put, a sensible riposte.
Occam’s razor left me wanting.
I sought, but did not find;
gave without receiving,
knocked on the door
of an apparently empty flat.
The neatly categorized,
purposefully filed,
precisely organized,
diligently maintained,
and seemingly endless
repository of nouns,
verbs, adjectives and adverbs
in all their glorious form and style
has abandoned me,
in abrupt manner
and deliberate fashion
not unlike that demonstrated
in the cruel reality
of two dissolute marital relationships.
I am left
with the frightening realization
that even the words
which comprise my most meaningful
and longest lived associations
have abandoned my company
in favor of some sort of
linguistic spring break.
Oh, the shame of it all.
“Prick us, do we not bleed?
Tickle us, do we not laugh?
Poison us, do we not die?
Wrong us, shall we not revenge?”
~Shylock
Merchant of Venice
Act III, Scene I
W. Shakespeare
Spring Break
By David Roth
© 11th April, 2012
