I want to know a little something,
why no one understands how the build-up
of wax in an ear clouds what they see in the bottom
of a tea cup
those clumps and frays of wet leaves
mean everything to those who know how
to read. are the instructions not clear? too cryptic?
for the sighted only?
i beg to display what the doctor pulled out
how he laid it on a tiny metal plate
for me to see. There’s the problem, he said.
John Dorroh continues to write poetry about dreams, snippets of conversation, deaths of his dogs, being a nosy neighbor, and other unexplained things that pop into his head. Three of his poems were nominated for Best of the Net. Others have appeared in journals such as Feral, River Heron, Shark Reef, and Selcouth Station.