Posted in Poetry, Prose

Hitting a Nail

Hitting a nail
not on the head
a bit to one side,
where my finger lay
If I, an optimist were,
I would be happy
knowing that my head
or, any number of nails
were safe from the anger
in the strength of my arm,
If I, a pessimist were,
then I might curse
my inability, my lack of talent
to strike such an easy target,
if it hadn’t been
for my thumb
being where it was
at the wrong moment
of moments,
The pain of remembering
diminishes until
something needs to be
thumbed by that thumb
making me think whether
thinking good or, bad thoughts
would have changed
this situation into something else,

a black thumbnail tomorrow
will surely bring this argument
to light, in a dark way,
once again…



Just an American lost in Denmark. The past few weeks being back in the good old USA. It is like Aliens have taken over my mind, changing it from what I knew to what I know. It might be the heat, or it might be the influence of hearing English 24 hours a day, but whatever the cause, it is only temporary while dealing with this time and space.

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