No One Says Terrific Anymore

 

The earth is crying

            but in a slightly annoying way

            because it showed in its teens 

            its hyphen-heavy poem

            to a friend and the friend said  

 

hyphens are dead, forgetting 

            that the origin of bedroom is 

            bed-room        

            which is

            the way it is

 

written in my edition 

            of Bleak House

 

now being swabbed 

            for traces of explosives at airport security

            where I’m hoping I haven’t packed a blade and a friend 

            just texted to say I should

 

say hi to the parthenon for them

            although I don’t speak

            ancient greek

            or modern greek

            and besides 

 

my flight is bound for Dublin

            where the sky on arrival is beauteous 

            blue perfection.

 

On a scale of beauteous perfection

            it’s potatoes au gratin in food blog photos

            delicate golds and light browns glistening 

            like a desert coated in margarine spray. 

 

All this but blue

            and quite like the sky.