What randomly is, is not without merit,
but I, blessed with a soul, don’t really want it.
Pure chance prevents me from being a poet.
My computer password needs to be random
and so much in life is random, as we know.
We don’t know the exact velocity of much
and even the relative sense of fast or slow
depends on, what in the end, we can’t possibly know.
Here I am, caught in a mansplaining fit
when I wanted to be poetic. This isn’t it.
What I’ve just written, I did write for you.
Sigh. Fifteen second pause.
Give me a minute. I know what to do.