A THEORY OF RICE
You may have held this, once;
and you have a delectable mien.
In your shoulder-closet, I can
detect an already well-worn fabric.
I want to sense the color of rice,
feel the texture of uncooked kernals.
It's a theory I have : that if a man
can withstand a diet of rice, he can
withstand most anything. I try it.
I do. With maybe some sea salt.
Or sea-weed, on the side. With a
slight sprinkle of fermented soy.
Sesame oil. There are variations.
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It affords an amazing distancing
from the world - faraway spaces
and places, hearts of gold, not just
lettuce. I was reading, just recently,
of a plane load of people, flying
from San Francisco to Hawaii when,
with a very loud bang, the metal
sheathing broke away from one engine
and metal and bolts and chunks were
seen, by the passengers, falling into the
sea. Panic and screaming broke out.
-
They safely got to Hawaii for a very
careful landing. Everyone was shaken.
But, I contend, had they been eating
my version of rice, within the theory
I've presented, they'd not have been
bothered in the least bit at all.
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