How on Why

Why cries for the past to be replayed
a scratched old record
from a scrapbook cover
in a silent smelly little room
where we learn not to cry
repeating to ourselves,
‘why me?’
in rhymeless rhyme.

Why is a misused medication
to curl lips and fray love
to bring wrinkles to the point
where the nose meets the eye
to stamp yesterday’s loss on today
and reapply it to tomorrow’s farce.

Why is a record flushed
and comforted by a pity so misshapen
that the scratches and jumps
so loved by the listener
become the song’s only redeeming qualities.

How is a different animal
that licks the face of sadness
dropping balls at our feet
for us to pick up and play with
if only we knew how to move
and love another.

How chases away the whys
that weigh us down with woe
and along the path of quiet parole
we will be shown
how to see past the past
and say ‘how now, brown cow?’
to laugh at how much time
we have wasted.

How is the celebration
of understanding
a rough diamond
amongst shaded cut stones
that ache in uncomfortable glory
as plain speaking rises
above the wailing silence
of unaired concealment.