Ode to an Essay

What is an essay? It is a composition,
a narrative, a perspective on tidbits of life.
Sometimes it is a tale told by an idiot.
By any other name it is unsolicited advice,
that presumes to have a bit of coherency,
and, with the passage to time becomes a summary
of the give and take of living from the perspective
of someone who probably has failed to live up to
its central ideas.

And so, it is you, it is me, it is us—
all rolled up in a bundle and offered as a
worthy literary candidate to avoid becoming
merely another vessel, a collector of dust on
a dimly lit bookshelf; left to die a slow agonizing
death.

It has no plot, no characters, no protagonist;.
It is part expository in that it reveals more than
it conceals, perhaps to the chagrin of the more
literate among us. It is part fiction replete with
opinions that obfuscate as much as they illuminate.
Still, it is more a deprecation of order than of self.

Essays nevertheless have their place. They need not
follow the rules of composition too closely, especially
by those of us who never quite mastered the rules.
It was probably a second-rate writer who said, “Those
who have not mastered the rules of grammar and
composition are permitted to break them.” Hold it:
I think I just heard my 5th grade teacher roll
over in her grave. Oh well, better her than me.

In summary, an essay circumscribes the truth
without quite capturing it. But most of all, it
favors those who prefer to fall in love with people,
rather than to word structure; to freedom of thought,
rather than to mental rigidity; and to substance over form.
That is my contribution to this subject, and I am
sticking with it.