Food for thought at the end of an unsavory year. In verse. From Ben Diamond in New York, 12/22/2020 (Note the proper way to write the date!)
You were standing there like the Middle Ages
Anxious for enlightenment to begin
Opportunity was ringing on your doorbell,
But you didn’t want to let it in
You turned the gas off on your stove
And stared at the empty flower box
I could see you from the street
And tossed up tiny rocks
I said “You’ve got to plant a seed
If you want something to grow in that soil”
And you replied “Don’t talk to me in metaphors,
I’m waiting for water to boil!”
Alexander and Mohammed
Stood there on the avenue
No cabs were out and it was raining
And neither one knew what to do.
So they went to the all-night diner
To plot out their attack
But neither one would order
And let the other one face their back
Lightning lit the building tops
And the watchful eye of a stone gargoyle
While Alex and Mohammed watched the waitress
Who was waiting for water to boil
It was yesterday, or tomorrow
It hardly matters anymore.
I was on the sofa sleeping
Or maybe I was at the store.
I was warm, or maybe cold
And it was late July, or some other date
You muttered about the price of tea
And how I always hesitate
So I closed my book of mysteries
By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
As you stood there with a cup of ice
Waiting for water to boil
Letter from America, part 15: This shoe is a cake
Letter from America, part 14: Love and isolation
Letter from America, part 13: Words with an ‘F’
Letter from America, part twelve: Nostalgic fiction and fictional nostalgia
Letter from America, part eleven: I went to camp with Jeffrey Epstein
Letter from America, part ten: Yesterday, yesterday
Letter from America, part nine: Where are your balls, Theresa May?
Letter from America, part eight: Bohemian Rocketman
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