LIKE

I like the word ‘like.’

Like when it compares one thing

to another.

The technical term is ‘simile,’

which is similar to ‘smile’;

that is, they look somewhat alike,
but you can frown at a simile
if you want to.

But, like, I don’t, like, like

the likes of a certain generation

which uses ‘like’ just to fill in

the gap between thoughts.

Those who do such a thing

are wastrels of words—

whores of grammar—

syntax sinners.

A simile makes connections.

It’s like a bridge over which

new meanings come into town.

Similes make ideas more clear,

like the city skyline

after the fog lifts the shades of morning.

Good writers, such as the poet Ted Kooser,

can write a poem such as Flying at Night and say:

   Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies

   like a snowflake falling on water,

and somehow distance and immensity

melt away.

A clean four-letter word: like.

It cleanses our perceptions of smudges

of misunderstanding.

It expands our vision of what is.

A little word, yet hugely beneficial—

like our tiny nerve endings

which propagate the human race.

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