" the perhaps of it all "

for years, I've loved

the word 'perhaps',

 

seemingly for the way

 

it simply sounds

plopping

 

from the plump

 

of my soft

and eager

tongue

 

slipping

through my

lively lips

 

into this blessed

tragic world of

 

now or never

contingency.

 

Will the creeping snail

cross the broad and

dangerous sidewalk

 

or be crushed flat

and slimey

 

under a well-worn

boot of the hurried

gardener

 

worried in the flurry

of work, 

 

perhaps today

he'll make

 

the funds 

to feed

 

his brown skinned

hungry family?