by Glen Martin Fitch
Enthroned within her realm
she asks me "Why?"
(I can’t recall
now what she wants to know.)
I answer logically.
"But why?"
I lie this time.
(a phase? a game?)
I let it go.
"But whyyyyyyy?”
She asks again.
I feel attacked.
My face turns red.
I glare.
I clench my jaws.
(If I were you
I would have gotten smacked.)
I use the default setting,
"Just because."
Well, "Why?" indeed.
Don't we all fret and strive to know?
But get the answer--nothing's solved.
I've seen
injustice and addictions thrive.
Small comfort,
waste of time,
and what's resolved?
But asking,
(Joy!)
her learning has begun.
"Not all 'Why questions'
have an answer, Hon'."
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011