You and I could have some fun. We could eat it like strawberry jello on a summer day in the suburb of a Midwestern town. There’s no telling how many songs of the Old Norse may pass our lips as we stand in the post office waiting to mail Christmas presents to our aunts and uncles. We may well pause a while on the edge of civilization where birds pass through the tops of trees to tell each other about the latest herbal shampoos. The city is full of mocking birds to mock. We may have diapers to wash and dishes to dirty and floors to sweep to the sounds of African Pigmy drums and Broadway musical reviews. We won’t have time for counting our neighbors’s sins, not when we have to go out in the world to eat fruit and learn multiplication tables like the Bible says.
20 March 1985