Arlene Corwin writes

Goodness, God

Goodness, God,

I don’t know what to do with life,

In life, each day a question mark.

Even if I had no spark

Of something they call faith,

I would be forced to go to something

In my brain to lean on/ towards/ against;                  

That all-inclusive hug some label humbug.

I don’t see how others -

You know who  (all of you)

Cope.

I, who feel a dope,

Twerp, dork,

In short, inadequate,

Yet

Carry on,

Intu-i-shun

My primal

Tool.

I sit here on a toadstool -

Miniscule,

A molecule of wisdom in my noodle,

Sounding off.

Through awful incongruities

One offshoot offers up itself to you

More often than all others:

Offerer (that’s me)

To offeree.