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Someone unseen bends down
and whispers in my ear—
ominous, portentous, threatening.
Or so I imagine simply from the circumstances:
the whispering,
the unseen-ness,
the bending down.
But my ears hear erratically,
resisting the meaning of sibilantly whispered phrases.
My brain cannot process this string of "s" sounds
that whistle into my ear canal and remain simply esses.
What does it all signify?
Nothing good, probably.
Nothing pleasant, I surmise.
Not understanding the seriousness of the matter,
however,
I am free to create my own meaning.
And thus is born a Pollyanna.
Someone unseen has whispered in my ear:
she sells (successfully) sea shells
by the silvery sea shore.
Or, even better, the French:
Si six scies scient six cigares,
six-cent-six scies scieront six-cent-six cigares.
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com
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