reflection in a phial
Reflection in a Phial
I look at my hands, they are as brown as a farmer`s, this pleases me,
although I have no land to plough, a tractor or a mule, or
a workman`s sturdy hand; all socialists should have hands that
have harvested potatoes or carrots.
I flex the muscles in my upper arms and see a faint movement
like a mouse moving under thawing spring snow.
Glorious vanity, I used to do a hundred press-ups a day in the hope
of looking intense and furious. I think of sex sadly. I wasn`t any good
at it. After the act, I looked for a book to read.
The squalid side of life has always mystified me. Why does
a person choose a path that leads to moral disgrace and ruin?
I have always been lazy; strenuous effort will not touch me,
but I would like to pull up a few more carrots.
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