Alphabet of an inchworm

An inchworm came to my typewriter, lifted his head, reached and stretched, fell back on his feet. With my finger, I boosted him up, cool as an eyelash, quick as a tickle. He inched under the dark frame. I waited. He crawled up to B. What could an inchworm know of alphabets, yet chose the letter to begin. He disappeared under N and M and I thought of the small green line of him imitating both letters behind their backs. From there he climbed to U and stayed awhile, learning it kinesthetically. I wanted to tell him U was more than phonetics, the rule of politeness, good breeding. I think he knew. K and L were over quickly. He was spelling naturally and we come to it unlearning what we say. Then semicolon. What could he make of that? Surely he shook his head, inched to the question mark. There he met his innocence face to face and took a long time learning. He rested before he slid down the dash and climbed the cent like a chute. Inchworm went home with experience in his pockets cocky as a freshman. He knows two worlds, the worm one and this. I was only back trying to make sense.

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