Did you ever see
a Tweedle Beetle
sit in a puddle
and ponder the puddle
while puddling his feet
and beetling his beetle
in a muddle of middle-ish thought?
Well, Tweedle did.
Tweedle Beetle sat in a puddle.
Not a big puddle.
Not a deep puddle.
Just a right-sized, beetle-approved puddle.
But the moment he sat,
another beetle said,
“Hey! Why’s that beetle
inside that puddle?”
And the moment he said it,
the puddle did ripple,
because puddles, you see,
get nervous when noticed.
Now Tweedle said,
“I’m not in the puddle,
the puddle’s in me.”
Which was clever.
But muddled.
So a third beetle arrived
with a notebook and pen
and said,
“I’m writing this down
just to see what you mean.”
Now this beetle was different.
A Writing-It-Down Beetle.
A Scribble-and-Scratch
and Observe-While-You-Do-It
Tweedle Beetle Battle Historian Beetle.
And once he started writing,
the puddle grew wider,
because puddles behave
when they know they’re a subject.
Then came more beetles.
Oh yes.
Many more beetles.
Beetles who watched.
Beetles who pointed.
Beetles who argued
about what was appointed.
Some said,
“That beetle’s a beetle!”
Some said,
“That beetle’s a puddle!”
Some said,
“That puddle’s pretending
to beetle a beetle!”
And every opinion,
each look and each stare,
made the puddle do puddlier
things over there.
It bubbled.
It wobbled.
It doubled its doubt.
It looked beetle-shaped
then beetle-shaped-out.
Now Tweedle got twitchy.
His antennae went crossed.
He asked,
“Am I puddled,
or beetled,
or thoroughly lost?”
So the Writing-It-Down Beetle
wrote faster and faster,
which caused a New Beetle
to read what he mastered.
This was the Reading-the-Writing
of the Writing-It-Down
of the Tweedle Beetle
Who Sat in the Puddle
Who Might Be the Puddle
Who Might Be the Sound.
And now things got tricky.
And slipperier still.
Because reading the writing
made thinking a skill.
The Reading Beetle said,
“According to text,
the puddle exists
only when it’s been checked.”
The Writing Beetle said,
“Well that can’t be right,
because I wrote it before
you read it tonight.”
The Watching Beetles watched
them both watching each other,
while arguing loudly
with sisters and brothers.
Soon beetles were watching
the watching of watching,
and puddles were puddling
from logical botching.
“What if the trouble
is trying too hard
to pin down a puddle
that never was starred?”
The beetles went quiet.
The puddle went smooth.
The Writing Beetle paused
mid-scribble mid-groove.
And Tweedle Beetle noticed,
for the first time that day,
that sitting was sitting
no matter the way.
So if ever you’re stuck
in a puddle of views,
with beetles debating
in beetle-made shoes,
beware of the watchers
who watch while they write,
and writers who write
while they watch with delight.
For meaning gets slippery
fast as can be
when you puddle the beetles
and beetle the “me.”
