Parenthetical Style

[balsa]

Parenthetical Style

Parentheses tell you what to leave out
and yet sneakily include their own statements,
like a clever lawyer or a worried mother.
You are going out with Will? (not that I don’t like him).
They tell secrets we’d rather not disclose:
I want to get fit (though I don’t exercise)
or work by an uncanny erasure:
George Bush is president.
(He cannot pronounce nuclear.)

Parenthesis do not impact the thesis
outsiders marked by crescent moons,
holding what is extra, might be left out,
as a child not chosen for capture the flag.

Why then so much ado on parenthesis?
It happened in Japanese class:
the word for parenthesis, kakko,
was in a sentence that read
“what must you do to become…”
a parenthesis? My resistance to
the mode of “must”, rebellious
and unsubmitting, was forgotten.
What must I do to become
a parenthesis? Switching modes,
I pondered this for a long time?
Was I really a parenthesis
on the edges of a sentence,
sometimes complete without me?
Was I the sneaky kind or the erasing kind
or the left out child, looking inside?
I asked the sensei—what must
I do? She smiled inscrutably,
kakko also means attractive,
chic, impressive, cool.
Ah so, arigato, I said.
Now I know how to
become parenthesis
with style. Cool.