portion of the artwork for Bruce McRae poetry

Gleeful
Bruce McRae

Lateral thinking got me nowhere.
I approached the matter from oblique angles,
and still I found little joy or satisfaction.
And such needless consternation too; all because
I’d written “argument” in place of “agreement.”

Finesse be damned, I employed blunt instruments
(a bomb, for instance, will remove a bottlecap).
Like a boxer, I circled my quarry.
And then it happened—sweet bugger-all;
as if I’d been talking to the bedroom lamp
or some other suitably inanimate object.

Indeed, it’s an art, getting what we want;
even if it’s not what we wanted.
Every minute is a hammer. Every day is a nail.

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 43 | Spring 2014