The poem feels like stepping into someone’s mind at the exact moment when everything becomes strangely vivid and slightly off‑balance. It moves with that mix of humor and unease that Dean Young handles so well, where the absurd suddenly feels more honest than the ordinary. The idea that nothing ever comes back hits with a quiet sadness, the kind you only notice after the fact. And then there’s the bee singing to itself—such a small, tender image that somehow says more about being alive than any grand statement. The poem keeps swerving, reminding us how unpredictable our inner worlds really are. There’s a crooked kind of wisdom in the line about being wrong even when there’s no right answer. By the time we reach the final warning, it doesn’t feel dramatic—just true. Life isn’t simple, and none of us are swimming in shallow water.
The poem feels like stepping into someone’s mind at the exact moment when everything becomes strangely vivid and slightly off‑balance. It moves with that mix of humor and unease that Dean Young handles so well, where the absurd suddenly feels more honest than the ordinary. The idea that nothing ever comes back hits with a quiet sadness, the kind you only notice after the fact. And then there’s the bee singing to itself—such a small, tender image that somehow says more about being alive than any grand statement. The poem keeps swerving, reminding us how unpredictable our inner worlds really are. There’s a crooked kind of wisdom in the line about being wrong even when there’s no right answer. By the time we reach the final warning, it doesn’t feel dramatic—just true. Life isn’t simple, and none of us are swimming in shallow water.
Now this one is very good. If I wasn't in a mean mood I'd give it 10/10. So it'll have to bake bread with a nine.
Just to be merciful, though, it is a nine of cups, not a nine of spared rods.
I like the symbols in this poem❤️