Up and to the left
then arc, down straight
left and cross. The ampersand
swims in my eyes, a calligraphic
ghost. So fine and elegant. Not quite
an 8 nor a B or Q but something
between. Ampersand.
The word ties my tongue in beautiful
knots and I resemble the symbol. &&&
My half-lidded eyes stare at the figure
on the page. I despise it. I hate its non-existent
angles. It takes over the paper – the lettered
words never stood a chance. I cover the offensive
mark with my thumb. O, horrid one. O, inky
noose. I cannot stand the site of it.
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