Ode on the Right Lobe
Tiny trapped
animal
with elephantine insights
knows but cannot tell
because of hereditary taciturnity.
It was speechless
when it found itself dumb––
no one had cut off a tongue.
It had aspirations and desiderata,
wanted you to become a fighta
pilot, live the dangerous life.
The self-congratulatory doppelgängsta,
that cheeky mirror image on the left,
speaks the lingua franca, aces
job interviews, forces you to live
level-headed. Right-side rejoinders
can be known in the halfway houses:
falling asleep and falling awake.
Modest and humble, it
has no viva voce in the gray matter, but
ferrys its virtues ashore
on waves of a wrenching gut,
a nagging hunch, not to mention
transcendent art and music, until
we divine its speechless whispers.
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