MEANDERTHAL MAN
They are playing seventy-year-old
songs on the playful radio above -
and I don't recognize that world at
all, except for the ease and comfort.
Those are things that everyone wants?
Let us then sit back and choose - the
streamlined edifice of some toaster in
silver and black; that chrome ashtray
in the antique-store window; that old
coat with the magnificent buttons.
-
Thinking it over, I recognize my fate -
that I will wander, a Meanderthal Man
on a wavering quest. Not like desert
sandman tribes of old but more like
a nuance of present-day physics -
a particle, untamed, unable to quite
be pinned own long enough to either
see or to be seen, and - if seen - define.
A raiment of light and color, with all the
morning-people asking, 'are you
the one, are you the one?'
-
What then can I myself define?
Vindicated at last, I look up to
see - yes, the half-moon in a
blue-sky velvet, and a dozen
stars at most, about. Ah! How
I have traveled these lands; all
these distances in my great-coat
traversed. Those songs, on the radio,
they really cover nothing at all - yet
as it is, people still listen.
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