CAPE MAY GARDEN CLUB
There are miners underground:
digging sand from the crevassed,
deep world beneath us. Occasional
strange arrivals appear, out of the
blue, from nowhere : prehistoric
fish, the kind the fossil-shops
sell. Here the man with the
geologist-hammer is tapping
away at something. His entire
crew was surprised at finding
rocks underground. I'd never
seen that before, thinking I'd
be just as surprised, I guessed, at
finding a horse-fence or doghouse
under the sands. The surf kept
pounding, but no one cared. A
Chinese fellow played some
one-stringed instrument up on
the old boardwalk bench. People
walked by, throwing quarters, and
missing. The ladies from the
Garden Club kept cleaning up
for him, throwing the money into
his box. Like Salvation Army
people, in a gardenesque reversal
of time and fortune?
-
Who thanks for meaning, and
what meaning has thanks?
No comments:
Post a Comment