I was absent minded, and I believe I heard her ask;
“Are we on the same page?”
I must have replied “Yes we are,” much as I couldn’t remember muttering it out.
Here I was lost in thought again;
On the same page! Really? Yes, but only in a different font.
Perhaps the same typeface, but stull different fonts.
I’m a Times New Roman, you might be a Times Old Roman.
By your skirts, I can see you and Ma have a lot in common.
They say I’m italicised, and I know you’re not.
I don’t know what they mean but I sure know you’re not what they mean.
In fact I’m ultra-light and you’re extra bold.
See, I’m compressed, condensed and you’re wide, extended.
I’m more like a caption to your poster.
I’m Grotesque, you are not.
You’re Antiqua, I’m not.
I’m who you aren’t. Never will be.
I’m sans-serif, you are all things serif.
I always hated strokes anyway. Elongated and clumsy they are.
I’m underlined, you’re striked-through.
Yes there’s a thin line between us, but it’s more through you and under me.
I’m a super-script, you’re an under-script.
See we aren’t even on the same line.
I’m more like a Webding and you, a Goudy Stout.
We might be on the same page but we aren’t the same.
Do you know your fonts? Neither do I.
Do you know your lane? Neither do I.
We all live on the same page, or do we?