When setting up
to read on the 905, it becomes
clear: Pipe bombings are on the
agenda for those who sell books,
if only to cover legal defence.
And then once home,
realizing that one of the readers,
and not very strong,
is merely resisting his violent impulses.
'Perhaps he has a history,' while he
undresses a stalker in his mind.
I wish them well,
but it is a matter of wit,
and it seems that none of them
get the joke.
It is just as well, as they dress
in prairie ponchos, and feminism,
as if they have transcended
criticism/censorship/comment.
You realize early on,
at thirty, life is half over,
or that there is more work to do.
