sometimes, the outside comes in to bring the inside out
Matthew “Thule” Hue dodged the world by hanging out in Mr. B’s typing class. He dodged University by taking the job of copy editor for the Spindrift Froth, the port town’s countertop broadsheet.
Thule could touch type at the speed of thought, but had few thoughts to share. Not since Mr B slid his short-bed loaded with split cedar into Lake Tarboosh on an icy Hallowe’en evening. Mr B’s fez rose with bubbles to mark the spot.
Awkwardly, the mayor asked Thule to be the town’s first poet laureate. Poetry is easy. Write about hockey. This is a hockey town. Put it in those little lines and make it rhyme. The mayor laughed. She wanted a laureate to negate bragging rights of their sister town. Besides, the job paid little but title.
Thule wrote about Mr B instead. He wrote it as one might imagine a copy editor would. And he cut it into those little lines. That’s not hockey, said the mayor. What we need here is a little feel good. Thule wrote about cedar trees. That’s better said the mayor. But next time, make it rhyme.
Thule wrote about not fitting in. He wrote about form and formalities. He wrote about titles and entitlement. The mayor thanked him for his service and retired the role without naming a replacement.
Thule could type at the speed of thought and now could think at the speed he felt. He thanked the mayor and after wondered whether one could laugh in rhyme.
( Hallowe’en 2021 )
