Ah, the blessed month of April. Fraught with windstorms, snow flurries, ice slicing up your cheeks, your red calves quivering in the wind and longing for sunshine and a good pair of shorts, and a month full of 40% off poetry discounts at the BYU Bookstore! I keep missing my office hours because I'm so distracted by the 40% off display table. It's okay. No one comes anyway. To kick of poetry month (six days late) and to distract myself from the task at hand, namely writing my African lit paper (due tomorrow), here's a snarky little prose poem that I find both pretty and fairly amusing in its own special way.
Metaphors
It is pleasing to know there are so many metaphors in this world. And I'm told the number is growing all the time. Last week an Asian newspaper reported that an immense metaphor surfaced just off the coast of India and was creating quite a stir. Christians and Muslims forbad the faithful to gaze upon it. Hindus showered it with flowers. Buddhists claimed it had been there all along. A single metaphor can upend the world and soon everyone is wearing orange or speaking in falsetto or weeping in the streets. Before they present themselves to mankind, most prophets spend years gathering metaphors in the desert, which is like an orchard where metaphors flourish without a trace of rain.
-David Shumate
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