POEM: Rutherford

Rutherford was a man
Whose cruelty was only
Acceded by his ignorance
And all kinds of people
Parted with his presence
A gift to know one
Leased of awe himself
And if you ran into him
In all likely hood
It was he
Who ran into you
A cunning certainty
His very name meaning
Synonymous with first and last

This poem fits into my growing genre of mini-biographies or beginnings of novels.  First, nothing personal to anyone named Rutherford: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

I picked the name Rutherford because of its association in the mind of this punster with ‘ruthless’, or in the case, ‘ruther.’  Also, since the name Rutherford can be used as either a first or last name, the last line of the poem was born.  We have all probably known someone whose negative affect on people was consistent, exceeded only by their lack of awareness of this affect.  Unfortunately, their cruelty may have a certain cunning to it, where they make a point of running into you, or most any other nameless rabble that suits them at the moment.  This poem is unusual for me in that it really doesn’t even contain a seed of hope that is typically present in my poems.  This speaks to the reality that some people’s dominant role in life seems to be serving as a cautionary tale for others.  This too is a gift, albeit not a most pleasant one.  Fortunately, hope springs eternal, even amidst regiments of cautionary tales.

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