A WAY IN

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"Today," says Mr. or Ms. NaPoWriMo, "today I challenge you to write an abecedarian poem – a poem with a structure derived from the alphabet."

Well, okay, I will, but first I have to acknowledge that I did not post a poem yesterday. Yesterday we drove from Vancouver to Castlegar and it was more important to revel in the beinghomeness of things than to figure out who to make a visual poem. The drive was beautiful, by the way. A crazy lack of snow on the high passes. 

Okay, Abecedarian poem, here I come.

A way in. 
Because you can,
 even though it's 
crazy, this 
divisive what-is/what-isn't that
epitomizes poetry these days.
Frankly, I'd rather pluck chickens,
or scoop up dog turds that were missed
by their owners at the park. 
Gargantuan turds,
in some cases, Great God, you can't imagine the 
hell of it, such a job. 
I would rather...
rather...I would rather not. Wait,
just wait, for the 
kink, for the kindness, 
lip sync love in all it's 
many colours, 
neutralize the negative,
or high five the 
positive, 
quirks in the quicksand
relying on something, 
someone, somewhere, to 
tease out, tear away, coax from 
under the carapace of regret you crave. 
Very 
well. You've 
explained it all the way I knew 
you could. So much 
zeal, and I love it and fear it at once. 

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