Vox Meditantis

The tea must brew for precisely four minutes,
not three-and-a-half, not four-fifteen –
four minutes exactly, and yes, I’ve timed it,
and yes, I know how that sounds.

But here’s the thing about ridiculous hills:
they’re the only ground we truly choose.
Everything else – our battles, our struggles,
the worthy causes and noble fights –
they choose us, don’t they?

So let me have this:
the correct way to load a dishwasher
(bowls on top, always),
the insistence that autumn is superior to spring,
that toast cut diagonally tastes better than quarters,
that books should never, ever be dog-eared.

I’ll concede the larger wars.
I’ll compromise on politics and philosophy,
bend on matters of import and consequence,
yield on questions that actually matter.

But this? This foolish, pointless thing?
This is mine.

Watch me plant my flag in this absurd soil,
watch me defend this indefensible position
with footnotes and citations,
with passion wholly disproportionate to the stakes.

Because if we can’t be ridiculous
about the things that don’t matter,
what’s the bloody point of anything?

Bob Lynn | © 2025 Vox Meditantis. All rights reserved.