THE SPECIAL MAN


Paradigm is not a word I use lightly
or much. It takes a special
kind of man to use it. That man is flaking out
right about now. A rock has
come through his window and lies
on the floor. Upended are
his curious notions regarding our age and his
place in it. It's tricycling through a milkweed patch
that he'd rather be doing than following
the latest recipes for disaster
preparedness, or so he tells himself as the roof caves in.
Picking through his rubble, I come upon
an awl that was once important to him,
and smoke clears my nostrils of
curious notions. Immediately I want them back.