I was given a new pair of potholders on my birthday.
I smelled lime blossoms for the first time. I discovered
the stories of Robert Walser and so you could say
I fell in love with a dead man. My mother died
and in this fulfilled my lifelong wish to put bluebonnets
on a grave, My father lost his memory and so became
what he had always been—a simple man. I learned everything
about the former Soviet Union, but if pressed for details
I’d fail you. One morning—just like that—someone called
seagulls rats with wings. I saw a young lady—a girl really—
sitting on the beach in a red bathing suit, sobbing.
The front of her suit was soaked. All around her
the seagulls lowered themselves like helicopters.
Miss Manners of the Daily News says if you cannot offer
concrete help, it is best to say nothing. What are you going to do
to alleviate the problem? Giver her a job? Offer her your heart?
What you are contemplating is simply saying you are sorry
as you go on your way. This notifies the lady she is a spectacle,
causing more discomfort. Therefore Miss Manners invokes the rule
for physical accident: don’t stand and gawk. Don’t be a seagull.
Seagulls get shot at the end of great plays.
I carry this advice with me into the next year. You could say
I walk away from it and toward it at the same time.
Not getting any younger. whom have I helped? Heavenly lime blossoms!
Most respectful sir: Walser wrote this curious form of address
brings the assurance the writer confronts you quite coldly.