A Snippet
I looked across the asparagas at my adversary. That, in this town, is what you call the person sitting across from you at a dinner party, whether you've met them before or not. Unless, of course, a romantic interest supervenes.
He was chattering to the lady on his left, who was bending his way and listening as if spell-bound. A scotoma of candle flame interrupted a view of his face.
'I think immigration represents a brain-drain for the mother country, ' he said, roundly.
Amazing and very clever. Put that way, it seemed less an affront to cherished liberal, American values. Speaking only for myself, I do not feel people should air their extremist views at dinner parties. It bodes ill for digestion.
'Why, ' he continued, unflappably, 'should the brightest and most energetic be encouraged to emigrate? And the prisoners and gang-members? Shouldn't they stay home and help build their societies for the betterment of their people, create a stable middle class and not flood the labor market here? Or receive their due? Must everything be about money? Must ideology always triumph over reason? Must opportunity always imply 'elsewhere? ' Can't it be created elsewhere? And, as for AIDS, can't we just export the meds? '
Blasphemy! Annoyed by this sort of illogical 'back door' conservatism, I said, leaning forward,
'You must be a Republican.'
'I voted for Obama, ' he said, curtly. 'And even if I were, do you guage the validity of an idea by the political party of its advocate? '
This I found evasive in the extreme.
'Stick to the point, ' I said.
At that moment the soup arrived...
poem by Morgan Michaels
Added by Poetry Lover
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