Press


In the dim dark days before they used words
Things were a lot simpler than they are now.
For one they did not know what to call birds
But they marvelled as they flew anyhow
Nodding their heads in general approval.

When they nodded back and forth, it meant yes.
When they nodded side to side, it meant no.
When they did not nod, so the story says,
It just meant that they did not really know,
Least of all what one does with a medal.

When the words flow abundantly,
If not always eloquently,
nor even mellifluously,
Dark secrets beg confidentiality
And droppings of mirth pour torrentially.

The faculty of the mighty critique
Was the province of the newspaper press
And the trust given to words was unique,
Especially the articles about progress
And why we must always press the pedal.

Bevagna, 11 4 2009