T-O-R-T-U-R-E is a Seven-letter Word by Bruce Rice

April 13, 2023
Poem title: T-O-R-T-U-R-E is a Seven-letter Word Poet: Bruce Rice Poem: (for April 13, National Scrabble Day) Bell-rung, concussed warriors of the grid-iron clutching their groins as they limp off the field into the wrong locker room; hockey players with noses jauntily zig-zagging to the left, white and flattened like that frozen haddock sleeping at the bottom of your freezer with last year’s zucchini; and bull riders with parts missing that Grey’s Anatomy hasn’t heard of, and more stitches than a zipper factory—should be grateful for something a couple of Advils can fix. They wouldn’t last a week at our house. And I ‘m not talking about the slithery guest dozing in the Snakes and Ladders box, nor the chess board, bishops sharpened into shivs for that dark night of the soul and four hours of catatonia Flaubert called “too serious as a game and too pointless as a science.” These diversions pale beside the game that shall not be mentioned. M3 E1 N1 T1 I1 O1 N1 now there’s a seven-letter word for fifty-nine points if I can find a place to put it down, but I only have half the letters so maybe MUTTON or MUTTONS or MUTTONED if I can find an open D, or maybe MUTTONY—sure it’s a word. MUTTONY on the Bounty. Let’s review some rules. 1. Time is relative to the position of the observer. Just ask Einstein. Therefore, there can be no time limit that a single observer can observe. Especially my father. 2. Words must be real with some gravitas. They must be in Webster’s 1936 edition or the twenty-part Oxford English Dictionary, which may be consulted any time a player needs a word starting with U and ending with X, and of course the Dictionary of Scottish Derivations. 3. The OSPD-USAWDEL or Official Scrabble Players Dictionary Used by Sackards and Americans Wallowing in the Dregs of the English Language is V4 E1 R1 B3 O1 T1 E1 N1 another supposedly valid word. 4. The scorekeeper—let’s call her Mom— drinks Glenfiddich. The game doesn’t start until the remaining players find the pencil stub lost in the weave of an orange carpet that in 1974 narrowly missed becoming the floor, wall and ceiling of a Shaggin’ Wagon. 5. The winner is the scorekeeper. The person who puts things away is a L1 O1 S1 E1 R1 though words like W4E1A1K5 and L1I1N1K5 do better score-wise. 6. TYLENOL 3 anyone? TYLENOL: a proper noun that’s not allowed, although for sixty-five points S1 E1 P3 P3 U1 K5 U1 is. End of poem. Credits and bio: Copyright © Bruce Rice Bruce Rice is a previous Saskatchewan Poet Laureate (2019-2021). His most recent collection is The Vivian Poems (Radiant Press), on the life and work of street photographer, Vivian Maier. He has been shortlisted for Saskatchewan Book of the Year, and received poem of year awards from both Grain Magazine and The Malahat Review (P.K. Page Award). Bruce writes about individual lives, community and how we are transformed by landscape even as we leave our footprints on it. While he takes himself seriously, the fifty trout he keeps in his brother’s dugout say he’s not fooling anyone. Bruce lives in Regina on Treaty 4 territory and the homeland of the Métis.