4893. OF THE THINGS THAT I LOVE DOING

OF THE THINGS THAT 

I LOVE DOING

(on philip roth / 'American Pastoral)

The dry spot at the corner - where the lace is

filled, the light runs down and the water cloth

still carries its stain - is probably my favorite

downtime spot. The man in the carnival vest who

is speaking vaguely of Jews says, 'of our old

neighborhood Seymours whose forebears had

been Solomons and Sauls and who would

themselves beget Stephens who would in

turn beget Shawns; where is the Jew in that?'

I only overhear in a most - quite lazy - way.

I'm thinking instead of submarines and what

they did for Jews in cans like that? Special

services, special food? Or just nothing at all;

captured with a goy God some few miles 

beneath the sea?

-

When man first found the banana, or the orange,

what were they thinking? This, I can eat? I should

try though it may kill me? Did they give it to a prisoner

first, to eat - some whipped and shackled man they

cared not anything of? Or did they watch a monkey 

instead? Those were the days of big choices. Yes.

-

Now some carriage-monger is waltzing around with

the key to his yellow limo; driving a bunch of party

whores to another night spot to debauch of themselves

what they can upon others. That famed, female jelly-goo

which plays its way along the thigh, that whimper in

a lower-lip at a fine orgasmic contraction. Each person

does with themselves what they may. Life is good, yes?

-

That same jolly man with the Seymours and Sauls is

now sitting down to his seltzer and steak. He wears

his napkin like a fat baby wears its bib. High, and

tight, and rotund - something yellow, again,

with the face of a clown on the front of it.