Fancy Vocabulary

by Jordyn Coats

If only words crept up
through the cracks in my one bedroom mineshaft,
like a score does my ill stricken organ,
would you forgive my lack of fancy vocabulary.
Thinking I’m D.H.L. or Keats
with my head softly tilted
on dulled blades of grass – oh, who am I kidding?
I see the same stars, the same moon glistening.
Even though their words took ages to hear,
nevertheless, they were heard.
I can send mine in mere seconds,
but twelve point Times New Roman doesn’t help me much.