A Hard Word to Say
by John David Muth
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It's hard for me to say
that word that rhymes with dove
the crown jewel of bad poetry
the one that clings to my uvula
screaming
like a child who doesn't want
to leave the playground.
I could say it in French
but it would sound pretentious.
In German
you might imagine
the commander of a Tiger Tank
cooing to his 88 millimeter gun.
When I say it in English
my large intestines become
a Christmas Cracker
an eager pair of hands
pulls from both ends.
Can I affirm with a touch
tell you you're great
that if we were on the Titanic
during that fateful April night
I would push old ladies
and children out of the way
so you could get a lifeboat seat?
I wouldn't join you
as that would be dishonorable
but it is likely you would be
the last person on my mind
just before the North Atlantic
closed around my head.
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