The poet reviewed an earlier published poem, a few years ago, only to find…

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Voice Recording (0:54): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/zoydbz5ld8eakgoo5v39n/Upon-Discovery-of-a-Telling-Misspelling.mp3?rlkey=24euo5zzvrwoqicxm0415juad&dl=0

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Upon Discovery of a Telling Misspelling

Oh, my dear, my dear
It’s pathetic’lly clear
She’s so uncool
She’s just a fool
It’s obvious, honey
She’s never had money
We priv’ledged prefer
Not to talk to her
We don’t know where
She went to school
But greatly fear
‘Twas nowhere near
Any academy
At which we’d be
Attending to the bell
To Finance 101 to go
However in creation,
In any realism, can
She not even know
To correctly spell
Household transportation
By which people go
The commonest brand
In our whole existence — the “Leer”!
Oh, dear!

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Homeless until removal of the stalker/targeter/vandal/arsonist following her allows her to approach any landlord ~ even for a private parking space ~ this poet presently lives under perpetual threat of towing with all possessions should her 23-year-old van stop running for any reason.

She is badly in need of a modest reserve with which to field any emergency which might occur.

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