by Ann Drysdale
It would be nice to hold a conversation
Without the certainty that it will end
With your taking vociferous objection
To some insult that I did not intend
But you, feeling a need, will manufacture
From any random handful of my speech
And then rub into vulnerable corners
Of parts that other poets cannot reach.
Consideration is my guiding tenet
In all my interpersonal affairs.
I circumnavigate the major pitfalls—
The yawning traps that people dig for bears—
But always fall because I never see
The little holes where goalposts used to be.