It’s the shortest distance between two points –

a straight line.

Running from here to there

connecting a beginning and an end

with every point between.

Short or long, thick or thin

in, some might say, the very opposite of poetry.
When the ends of straight lines meet,

first an angle, then shapes with sides appear –

like triangles and squares, and all sorts of polyhedrons.

Straight lines thus pair naturally

with geometry, and with material constructions –

they map dimensions, provide a grid

and in a curved world, they get things done.
Straight lines shape the basics of mathematics

by crossing at perpendiculars to add up

and at diagonals to multiply.

Straddled by two dots, they diminish, by division.

Two straight lines, lying side by side, signal equals,

whereas one straight line in the middle

simply subtracts.
If a straight line slopes, there’s a delta,

but if the loose end turns in space-time

a circle will appear, or a wheel, or an orbit –

those two ends will never meet.

Such movement is always relative.
Straight lines ready the blank page

capitalise the alphabet

make a dash for meaning

and turn a full stop into an exclamation.

They pitch music, on staves and leger lines.

Whichever way you look at it,

they shape a poem.
Sometimes, straight lines reveal themselves –

as the crow flies

at the journey’s end

with the spirit level,

or as those magical horizons

between the deep blue sea and the wide blue sky –

or in the mind’s eye,

as that invisible axis

around which the world spins.