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poem for a dyslexic - to be read aloud

Lost for words Patrick
Might not have a dictionary tucked at the end of his long sleeves in winter
But he always has a number to lend
My favourite being 3458790012
Which I couldn’t possibly pronounce or tell you
But Patrick could and he would hand it to you as if it were
The best piece of pie he had made in the oven
Apple with lashings of cinnamon
His own style of pastry acting as the casing

Lost for words Patrick
Might not be able to write you a sonnet
But he can build a roof over your head
With fancy corners and twisted ideas of style and architecture
Sometimes out of place in the remote space of Australia
And if you look at him
You might not be mistaken in thinking that he could be
From another country
Or time just visiting this world with a sense of amusement
Far older than his shoulders provide.

Lost for words Patrick
Isn’t really lost at all.
He has a tiny compass and computer locked away inside,
it’s just a game he plays with the universe
and the universe, him; and somehow
school and reports get in the way of the adventure of discovering
and beyond the numbers, pies and creations that peel away at least one layer
if you listen very carefully, even lift the pastry crust,
peep round the corner or lift up a number four
Lost for words Patrick can be seen saving letters
and punctuation, and he’s looking for more …

Journal Comments

  • neliyeti
  • fleece
  • helene
  • Robert Knapman
  • mawaho