The Shop of Delicate Words

Imagine that writing is like shopping –

Choosing words; look for the perfect fit

Try them on; discard. shit.

Try again, they need to match

And compliment, the perfect catch –

Make sure they don’t grate screechingly against each other

Causing winces in those who read them.

And now I realise, with shock that makes me wince

When I go word shopping

I blunder in, like a bull in a

Chinese shop

Knocking things over;

Breaking delicate words;

Turning round, like a Laurel and Hardy ladder

Smashing things I don’t even see

Like Mr Clumsy on a bad day.

At best, I fumble my way through things,

Smiling at my own stupidity.

And then I saw you

And the veil lifted

And I saw my own bullocking clumsiness

Matched starkly against your finesse

And fineness as you enter the same shop

Of delicate words and rearrange them

Almost un-noticeably into things that are

So obvious that nobody ever noticed them before.

Universal truths; clearly marked doors, previously unseen;

Secret passages standing in plain view. All unlocked by you

With your delicately stark words

Carefully arranged

Into something magical

And sensible

And impossible

Yet true.