in my job i don't
have to lift any great
weight. wait, there’s a mite
of a problem the poet might
have to heft.
words.
sound-alikes like the homophone.
there, their, they’re, i won’t
take two, to, too, long.
among all homonyms, though, it’s the darn old homograph
that i import
from the greek that has the import
of messing up these projects.
see how it projects from the
sea (oops, homophone)
of words above?
normally i’d never spend a minute
of your time discussing such minute
things (not to mention minutia)
i worry about. oh no, i know our
time’s up and we don’t have an hour
(sheesh) for me to buffet
you with the buffet
of weirdness i love about my job.
you, too, would need the patience of job.
often, it even tears
me up, though doesn’t bring me to tears.
hope you’ll be present
again when i present
another present
of a present
day poet’s
life.
Day 25. You figure it out. LOL
A Thing for Words 