Whose Afraid?

Another imitatio.
I wrote this in the style of much-revered Virginia.
If you are looking for something wise and wonderful, read her "On Being Ill," An essay.


An Ode To the Silent E at the End of Ode:

In regard to the silent O at the beginning of opossum, to the quietest l in the middle of colonel, to the B at the end of lamb, when a group of friends gather upon the deck of a private yacht, mingling in the cool autumn knight, what ideas and concepts are discussed there, with no mention at all of the C that alone holds the entirety of the Y A to the H T, that without it the whole thing could quite possibly fall apart, and does, collapsing upon itself and tumbling into the water where the bourgeois party-goers numb their thumbs in the icy depths and find themselves in debt for the destruction of a rather expensive yacht that is now just a yaht all the while saying ‘I never knew – I mean I never kenew’ because they have finally realized the gravity of their mistake – when we learn of this, that which we can so easily neglect, it is strange indeed that these letters have not yet risen up in rebellion to the abusive authority that has caged them in an iron realm of silence and neglect and solitude since the birth of all spoken languages.