The Word

A man in transcendental clothes accosted me in the street.

He asked me for a moment’s strength

to beg a word and busk a poem’s length.

A simple request, straightforward and true.

He’d write his best and I’d give him his due.

But at word’s cost, my mind went blank.

My patience was lost. My heart sank.

I raced in mind’s heat amid frozen breath

tugged at scruff and fought with death.

I thought of past conversations and discussions and worlds apart,

then at last vibrations and percussions of word’s art

began stilted then spewing:

“Night, blast, blight, cast

Silver, quiet, quiver, diet

Pool, passion, fool, fashion

Menace, master, Venice, faster

Love, lude, fantasy, food. . . “

On and on those words did flow

and visions passed and time did go

as they spattered and sputtered

’till the sidewalk was cluttered

with words stewing

and woes eschewing.

Then a hunger took me as my thoughts assailed us

and I stopped of a sudden as those words hailed us

But one word was left and as is my fashion

from my heart it was cleft and over and over in my passion

I shouted “CHOCOLATE!  CHOCOLATE!  CHOCOLATE!  CHOCOLATE!”

His poem came but moments later

by Danube made with word to cater:

“Liquid, solid, powder it don’t matter

just the sound of chocolate ‘ll make my heart patter

You say milk and I say chocolate.

You say milk and I say chocolate.

I eat so much chocolate you say I’m a quack.

Need I remind you it’s an aphrodisiac.

You say milk and I say chocolate.

You say milk and I say chocolate.

I love you dearly.  Yes it’s true,

But the color of chocolate is my passion hue.

You say milk and I say chocolate.

You say milk and I say chocolate.”

The poem was simple, fresh and couth,

but his English was not so good in truth.

He read it to me and it made me laugh.

I gave him five shillings and crossed his path.