Pronouns
by Michael A. Wells
The Quaker Oats are peaceful
I add banana, but it’s still silent
even the dogs do not get up.
I coddle the poison
ivy growing up my leg
my attention deficit turning
like a vine around a pole
playing Russian roulette
clicking on chambers
except they’re never empty—
even the immaterial
has its own place
I’m like that.
I give importance
where others decline.
A hoarder of the insignificant,
I will not vilify the tiniest pronouns
for each has a meaningful existence
we would do well to emulate,
grow old and comfortable in,
until we’re gone and it’s finally said:
well done.