He struggled for years to write
the perfect poem, by chance
he read that exact verse written
by a practising moron, no less
and no presence – a real moron
who made no bones about it,
one Henry Herbert Goddard,
psychologist.
It said all the things he wanted
to say, all the things he had said
badly, and all the wise things that
he thought needed to be said
about people.
It resonated with such intense clarity
in his head that he went mad.
Now he rests easily with the said
moron, happy at last to be
home alone.
© I.D. Carswell 2007-01-31
the perfect poem, by chance
he read that exact verse written
by a practising moron, no less
and no presence – a real moron
who made no bones about it,
one Henry Herbert Goddard,
psychologist.
It said all the things he wanted
to say, all the things he had said
badly, and all the wise things that
he thought needed to be said
about people.
It resonated with such intense clarity
in his head that he went mad.
Now he rests easily with the said
moron, happy at last to be
home alone.
© I.D. Carswell 2007-01-31
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