Galloping Lines (R) Poem by Margaret Alice Second

Wrestling with my text like a Matador battling the large,
threatening bull, legal implications of a hired, borrowed
or lent agent in a business, reading pertinent articles on
the Web, an enormous animal information victorious over
me, I can’t continue after adding sugar to my coffee and
lose my mind, the wrestling match must wait until I again
think straight, my IPod’s battery is flat, no more music

To keep the little alien occupied while I try to fly a straight
course to translator’s paradise where a pristine document,
black letters proudly printed on a wonderfully clean, sheer,
unlined sheet of paper presented with beguiling allure thus
inviting the reader to fall in love with the succinctly relayed
content - a beaming supervisor delighting in the accuracy
of terms and verbs and clever turn of phrase because

Every annotation’s daintily displayed like shiny facets of a
polished diamond without the dangerous influence of any
emotional denotation - ah, that’s where I fail every time, to
me emotion and life are intertwined, feelings decide choice
of term every time - guided by rhythm and rhyme, the flow
of words in song and aesthetic appeal; oh dear, I’d better
wrestle the document some more to remove all traces

Of feeling in running, flowing, galloping lines