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
Id 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 happenedsweet bugger-all;
as if Id been talking to the bedroom lamp
or some other suitably inanimate object.
Indeed, its an art, getting what we want;
even if its 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