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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Being a Genious

A genius deserves slack,
and I demand it.
I am a genius at mediocrity.
I grasp the subtle nuances of a subject
and promptly forget them.
Therefore I am without details
and admire experts who have them.
In an era of computers
typewriters are my forte,
provided they have no functions,
such as correcting my spelling
or improving my syntax.

I’ve learned to speak the language passably
by studying politicians,
and have become an elegant evader
of common sense,
preferring pronouncement and homily,
bags of meaningless statements
given on cue.
For this people give me high marks,
since not making sense implies a certain wisdom.
Crossword puzzles are a hoot.
I can’t do them,
so I disdain them,
and stand above general information.
I wander the world a 12th century man.
Switching on lights,
having no clue how electricity works.
Cars remain a mystery
of infernal combustion.
I have learned the gravitas of a stare
and the low pitched vowels of observation.
You are given credit for not smiling
because it makes you look thoughtful,
much as I feel when a faucet doesn’t work
or the toilet malfunctions.

This is why I claim credit
as a genius of mediocrity.
It requires nothing
but the pantomime of the intelligent,
and because no one claims it,
it is a niche
that confers a certain distinction.
A man who spells badly,
has more questions than answers,
and never gets called on in class
because he answers questions
with questions,
leaving everyone in doubt.

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