Saturday, April 26, 2014

5294. WATERBOY

WATERBOY
I guess it's a natural thing to wish to go home 
again, even after home has been proven to be
gone. Time exists in layers, amidst overlays
of occurrence. We cannot undo the past, as 
all that ever was no longer is. You may know 
that bulb you planted last year as it reappears
right now, but it is not the same. Time is the
ne'er do well dweller in a hut made of straw.
-
I walk past the fruit vendor, with his tiny dollar
bananas and his enormous by contrast zucchinis.
I watch the passers-by exult  -  they stop to talk 
or buy. Apples, bananas, even artichokes and
kale. Items arrayed, not for color or size, but
for being, alone. Presence. Existence within
our world of time. 'I wish to eat this. I shall.'
-
Someone like a Waterboy on a football team  - 
the high school kind, the kid who was otherwise
good for nothing, and certainly not good at sport.
He always came up last. 'Let's make him the
Waterboy', they'd laugh; that someone to schlep, 
that pity-case with little talent. He gets planted
anew, yet returns, each year, always the same,
doing what he's told to do.

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