CURFEW DELICIOUS
(me and zimmy)
'If this ain't Turkey then I ain't American.'
That's the kind of thing you just can't really say -
at a lunch counter somewhere in the middle of
New York City what was I to think. I don't eat
meat : all that filigree of gristle and torture-death
makes me ache, so to hear some character say
that was beyond me, though I probably knew
what he meant. Turkey's a country to me. Kemal
Ataturk and Ecevit too. And then, 'American' well
that's some ersatz crap cheese they make in the land
of the freeze and the home of the crave. So...see
what I mean? 'Too much confusion here. I can't get no
relief. Businessmen they drink my wine, plowmen dig
my earth. None of them along the line know what any
of it is worth. "No reason to get excited', the thief he
kindly spoke, 'there are many here among us who think
that life is but a joke; but you and I we've been through
that, and that is not our fate. Let us not talk falsely now,
the hour is getting late.' Outside in the pale distance, a
wildcat did growl. Two riders were approaching; the
wind began to howl." With that I awoke in a start,
banging my head on the edge of the bed. The blood
was running down, I felt it in my eye. I couldn't remember
where I was let alone where I'd been. The mark on my
hand said 'Arrow'; no meaning there at all. Someone had
left a note for me, and the radio was on low - detestable,
all that. A weather and crop report, at 5:30am from
somewhere in Delaware but covering Virginia too.
What the hell, I thought, was that? My own time
was running out. It was a mixed-up confusion.
It was curfew delicious. It was over and out.
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