Mr. W

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By all means, you may pop over, Mr. W,
But don’t expect me to smile right now.
You see, its in the knowing, not knowing, yet not knowing enough,
That confirms the knowing of what I know not.
Does that make sense Mr. W?

Oh, so it’s not a smile you sought at all, Mr. W,
Merely a crumb from my blueberry scone.
You see, if I could just freeze forever, the joy of that first glance,
I might avoid the prodding prongs of analysis.
Do you know what I mean, Mr. W?

So, you thought you’d check out my perplexion, Mr W,
And, while you were at it, take a snack.
You see, if I could thin out the overcrowding, the slight touch of Stendhal,
I might remove ME from the brink of unkempt tears.
Are you with me so far, Mr W?

Oh I don’t blame you, one scrap, for moving on, Mr. W,
Quite plainly, the chap next bench, has an apple.
You see, if I talked less, and watched … listened more,
I just know, I’d know more about more!
You’re nodding your head, aren’t you, Mr. W?

Maureen Walsh   24 Sept. 2010  ©
Inspired by my visit to the ‘Muraqqa Exhibition’ in the Chester Beatty Library in Dublin, earlier today.
The exhibition runs until October 3rd.

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