In What Font Do We Think?

In What Font Do We Think?

by Mike Pollock

It’s a query I’m sure,

That’s like a handleless drawer,

A question in futility,

A room with no door.

Equipped with just fists,

And rage that won’t quit,

Two eyes that don’t see

And a seat that can’t sit.

These words I should speak

Are threatening leaks

If comes to fruition,

The damage complete.

My cover’s been blown

And seeds have been sewn

A cruel unintentional

Coop has been flown.

Tangled rivers to drink

On the tip of the brink

The letters keep asking

In what font do we think?