“My social life is such a mess,” you said, As if you were confessing to the murder Of seven babies with an arrowhead. The truth is, dear, nothing could be absurder. In our life’s bureau, there is always one Big drawer that’s a complete and total mess-- We pull it open and we’re overrun With matchbooks, coins, a Betsy Johnson dress, Ex-lovers, drunken nights, old cab receipts, Regrets, and bottles of stress medication-- A drawer which helps us say no to the Neats And save the wild from dull domestication. Clutter’s a beauty mark, dear--not a canker; Mess is not order’s failure, but its anchor.
Copyright 2011 Matthew J Wells