Most venerable language,
mongrel, bastard thing
patched together from everything else.
An Anglo Saxon foundation.
A solid Teutonic core.
Then Latin & French, overlaid and infused
with some Greek. Hindu and Muslim
are welcome — Christian and Buddhist,
You’re sort of a Potlatch.
Sort of a sponge — soaking up, mopping up
dreams, tears, and bones.
And you get the job done:
the love told
the vow made
the grief consoled.
You might trace out a slow, jazzy rhythm —
a lusty, bluesy, Delta
Stream satoris of feeling and thought
into new hyper-haiku.
Or just bump down the road like some old
cucaracha, over washouts and potholes,
through gardens with toads.
You run deep and true. You stand up to abuse.
You still look good.
And sound good.
You’re plenty of fun.
You’re fascinating. Useful.
And you get the job done.