Of Morse and Navajo

Dots and dashes make up
The radioman’s code.
All languages are ciphers,
And jargon the worst,
That keep the alien out,
Far better than stone walls
Or barbed wire can.

It’s amazing how mot justes,
Wrapped in the right accent,
Unlock the doors of the eyes
To the inner sanctum
Of the heart and soul.
The mastered lingo
Is the golden key –
Not a stamped booklet.

Learning foreign lingos
Late in life, they say,
Will keep senility at bay
But when stroke hits,
It’s back to the first,
Babbling like a child,
All else forgotten.

Once learned you never
Lose it, they say.
But my eyes don’t speak
Like they once did,
Across a crowded room,
And be answered,
No one else the wiser.

The couple at the next table,
Eyes locked, oblivious
To all else around,
Exchanging Navajo codes
Of sweet nothings
At a blistering pace
Of sixty plus a minute.

Abie Alexander
Newark International Airport
© September 13, 2022