The temporal was
only a bridge. Radhika asks what
apostrophe means and I say “O bridge!”: that doesn't refer to
hours
the governor closed a bridge out of spite. Power is a means, yes, but
it's also mean--the way lack of commitment masks itself as
indecision. She fears the cruelty of breaking a non-commitment, asks
the newspaper ethicist what she needs to say. A world-renowned ethics
professor sexually harasses his foreign students. The question we
pose is so obvious we hardly need ask it. She wonders what is more
cruel, the saying or the not-saying. If the bridge had an end, we
could never get off it, gulls arcing
beneath us, as we worried over concrete spalling, angled for repairs. The
man whose shrill shirt balloons never lands, hangs
in the air between roadway
and the river. We have stopped him cold
with a single syllable, calling into being what never
ceases to die.
Monday, May 23, 2016
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment