There was an inconspicuousness to it . . .
I mean . . . there we were . . . cresting conversations
as the clock boarded the third quarter
with little to deconstruct . . .
Of course, he/she brought it up . . . drilled it home, in fact . . .
but without exclamation . . . and so . . . it wobbled . . .
frayed . . . leaving us free to disassociate . . .
to wallow in post-time remorse . . .
Someone suggested hacking the portal . . .
but that smacked of illiteracy, if you know what I mean . . .
You see, you said, and without tweaking . . . we did . . .
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| Wendy Bevan |