Good Talk

Why curse? Would you pluck out your tongue,
hang it on the wall as a hook for your black umbrella, one
battered in a rough season, suspending it as rain drips
down, so wind-blown, spine exposed, tattered with rips,
saliva drops to digest the indigestible, pelting your silent floor,
one misunderstood drab unclear tear at a time, thirsty for
what you will never utter again as you fight weather,
beaten to silence by lines you should not wager?
You could learn to control your inflaming speech desire,
intelligibly ugly words lost by self-control gone haywire,
and entering your home, look long to the hook-hung speech
which will warn of thoughtful words next time you speak.