the little things, mon amour
It’s an inside joke how you say “armoire”
for “chaise”—
how you speak for the arm of a seat
like anatomy well-illustrated
in medical books you fetch
from foreign antique shops,
a habit that’s getting costly,
maybe out of hand,
but we own the armoire
as well as the chaise—
which is often an auto
corrected form of my name.
~CMH
This poem is in response to a prompt concerning mistakes and typos from "Next Line, Please" of The American Scholar.
