Emmett Reckins The Road to Reality

When I was yonge some things were different than.

Wich is to say that I'm a different man

than who—or is it whom, or either or?—

I was befor. I herd that heretofore,

that God had up and made us out of stuff.

What stuff that is, I guest He had enough

to make a ball, and loads of other balls

Wich all strung up made His celestial halls

as bright as any diety could wish.

Let there be light, He said, and then some fish,

plus other varmints, sprang upon the earth,

wich was of vastitude and mighty girth

that some called Mother then, and do today,

but by some fancy name thats spelt this way:

Gaia. I learnt that spelling off of Bing,

wich is a kind of dictionary thing

like Yahoo, wich was long befor the age

of Goooooogle [note I splat there on the page,

like on my monitor, to many o's?

Looks kind of like a bowl of cheerios!]

See how I wandered off? My Pa once tolt me,

Emmett, pay attention!  Sure, he'd scolt me,

but I've a neck and shoulder stiff as any,

and I kin take a licking. I've had many

a boxing on the ear, plus a good whack

upon the nether part of this hear back,

as well as many a lashing by the tonge,

wich sometimes more than wallops often stung.

What I am on about is only that

the child is father of the man. Now what

that means is really simple. Just ask Wordsworth,

A poet who could tell you what a word's worth—

I know, I know! I stolt that rhyme, leastways

I think I might of. Might have?  Anyways,

the thing is, when your older, than you see

another version of Reality,

wich Roger Penrose wrote a book upon,

wich I in turn reviewed on Amazon.

I bougt it at St. Vinny's hear in town.

I mean that book of Roger's, who's no clown,

but is a mathematician and a physicist...

Hot dang!    The End.   [No rhymes for physicist.]

6.12.14