Tonight, as I sat in my little room at the back of my house on this Dutch-disease-free-American-Elm-lined street, I was reading a poet who will, out of courtesy, remain unnamed.
Suddenly I swore and from the next room the Volscian Maid asked what was wrong.
“I was pained by infelicitous word use”
She picked up the phrase and repeated it in her rock-tumbling way.
Shortly a gemstone emerged, so much more sparkling than the original:
“Felonious word use!” she laughed.
And she was more right than she — or the poet — will ever know.