Little Words

The littlest words are always in charge.
They herd the other words down the page.
Like snapping dogs
they move the heavy adverbs along,
lumbering under their ribbons and bells
like the cows in a Hindu parade.
Even the big-balled verbs,
snorting and goring the steers of the nouns,
and the adjectives like frisky calves,
butting and nuzzling each other by turns,
hop to a nip on the ankle.
It's the littlest words
that bark and dart and move the mass
along the lines and into a meaning:

"Is" and "Was,"
"Has" and "Had,"
and the tiniest words of all,
"A" and "The,"
as most recently in my subway encounter
with a gleaming girl
and her gilt-edged Book:
"I have found
THE
true faith.
Will you let me tell you?"
"I have
A
true faith," I answered her.

Then the little words growled
and went for each other.

Copyright 2006 Joseph Hart
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Contents 06