The Misspelled Word

Another perfect metaphor: I can’t spell “maneuver.” My mother caught the error in the poem. My hands are numb and I can’t manipulate the corkscrew. I can’t tap sap from the mother lode. Now I mix metaphors to deflect the criticism. To bend the assay my way. To remind myself that the inner sense can make sense of a misspelled word. That perfection often flirts with the absurd. That I can maneuver my way out of these manacles which bind, most restrictively, the mind.