little straw hat
i wished to write a text about lack of choice
and as i thought of it once
turned it over in my head and thought twice
i reconsidered.
i find myself thinking of forlorn words
and wanting to put them on paper.
instead i write of a river, a fishing pole,
a little mouse with a straw hat and a basket of flowers.
if the words never appear on the screen, i figure,
then there is no evidence of them existing at all.
instead, we can now read of a rodent,
the size of a field mouse, such as the ones i watch at the zoo,
as it waits patiently, calmly, happily,
for an equally small in size fish to bite
so it can release it back into its waters
and watch the sun dip below the horizon
before returning to its small cottage carved into the bottom of a tree.
instead, we can now read of a small friend,
whos built a home out of scrap and bits from everywhere
inbetween the walls of a similarly comfy home belonging to larger than he.
with his little waistcoat buttoned up tight and the kettle warming
he waits patiently, calmly, happily,
for his equally small in size friends to arrive
so he can lay back and laugh with them
and watch the sun rise above the horizon
before seeing them out the door and smiling as they leave.
i wished to write a text about lack of choice
and as i thought of it once
turned it over in my head and thought twice
i realised pessimism was a fools choice,
evidenced by the hopeful words replacing the bleak on the document in front of me.
(MacDonald N/A)