Evidence that sometimes three syllables are enough to be going on with
The word 'abandon'. Three syllables. Oh, if only it were that simple. And yet, within the word, there is the thing itself. Ah yes, it begins with the vowel, hanging there in the air as though it were benign and could do no damage.
But then the 'b' - the 'ban' - the plosive threat of violence, of a door shutting, of isolation and the colour black.
And the fall. The 'don'. It is all finished. The decision to leave you behind has been made. The last part of the word can be whispered by the guilty as a victory hiss, by those who depart, as they slide the bolts on all the doors, or turn the silver key in a lock. They take the 'don' with them.
It is the centre of the word that remains, the part that hurts the most.
A bit depressing, though. Perhaps I was on one of those writing classes that pitches you in a mire of despair with exercises such as 'Write about the worst time in your whole damn life' or 'Describe a time when you felt like listening to Leonard Cohen'.
One day, when I retire perhaps, and have more time, I will do a similar riff on antidisestablishmentarianism.
Or maybe this Welsh town name ....