Collaborating with the Enemy

Collaborating with the Enemy
“I'm happy when the sun comes out and melts the snow-man 
I created because...” 

It is changeable May after cruel April and I'm ravished by 
the perfume of an Oregon Spring. Consider the mundane aspects. 
Not having to turn on the heat so much and have my 
electricity bills explode. Not having my nose dry out 
and bleed every day. Not having to endure shivers as I 
wait for my small heater to warm the space where I work so that 
I can forget the cold and think. And the sensual aspects. 
The spring air lets me imagine that I am a flying nose full of 
pheromones exuded by topknot beauties of the town swinging 
fecund feminine loins like those in Origine du monde by Courbet 
that randy roaming reprobate. Under the spell of that seasonal 
organ I observe myself wishing for an immediate change in earth 
orbit. I want Winter to be over now and lubricious Spring 
to reign supreme over my soul and body regardless of the cost 
in precious time. Forget about beauty coyly approaching and 
withdrawing until she finally decides to visit. Let Spring perch 
upon my lonely lap right now! 

Thus unconsciously I collaborate with Time the enemy of us all. 
Then I overhear someone say in a coffee shop, “I had a stroke. 
And when I was in hospital they told me something was wrong with 
my kidneys so now I'll have to have a biopsy. They took so much 
blood it's a wonder that I have any left.” Now that brings me to 
my senses, and I am again the divided, discontented, cranky, 
crabby, kvetchy curmudgeon I was before Spring appeared and upset 
my unromantic apple cart. But if I am fortunate in finding a lover 
(or in being found) as luscious as Spring before some mortal threat 
finishes me, will someone say both to discourage and to save, 
“There's no fool like an old fool”. Or will someone kinder and wiser 
take me aside perhaps at the Space Concert Club during a gathering 
of poets or maybe Aphrodite from the Beanery. Yes Aphrodite from the 
Beanery. As her nearness makes me dizzy with desire will she whisper 
in my ear so no one else can hear, “Of all the forms of caution, 
caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness.” Who 
would know better than Aphrodite about caution in love? Would 
she say that to me do you think? And would I listen if she did?

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