The Point

"We are born on all sides of us"
-Paul Eluard

Everywhere you look you see articles, but THE
Is the pointed one. THE statue. THE horse. THE.
It used to be that when you looked at a statue, the
Was draped across it. Those meticulous folds.
Now you begin to see a man on a horse that
Means something, something that
The mounted man points at, steadfastly,
With the finger of the THE. Soon day

Gets up on a high horse and starts pointing.
THE day! it shouts and points
Into the air. Street signs point back toward where
You came from. Houses point there and there.
If you've ever seen a cow point, you know that's not
A subtle allusion. Nature has a blunt
THE. THE tree. THE lake. THE enormity. At last

You recognize the genuine article. THE me! you shout
And run around you, wrapping and winding
To make sure. And sure enough
There in the simple city, steadfast through
A solitary day, oh absolutely, sits
THE me, pointing at you with all those arms.

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