These Keys Must Strike Too Hard

Beneath this poem, on this paper,

I can see the imprint

of a letter to my son

(I always use two sheets).

Actually, I sat down thinking

I might transpose the words

of famous philosophers

and come up with something funny:

"I am; therefore, I think."

"Finished, is it?"

And, yes, it wasn't working.

When I got to Augustine's,

"I had my back to the light,

and my face to the things enlightened,"

I saw no transposition,

at least,

none I cared to make.

It was too beautiful, too true

for destruction.

Sometimes that happens.

Then I saw the letter,

periods strewn chaotic like stars,

commas like meteors, colons,

semicolons...I see them now, ellipsis,

all and all there embossed:

These keys must strike too hard.

And, O, those complicated compound sentences

I thought correct though challenging,

I threw them at him,

hoping he would throw them back,

but he hasn't yet;

he seldom writes:

These keys must strike too hard.

(The Arkansas Magazine, Arkansas Democrat, March 30, 1986; photograph by Steve Ketzer, Jr.)