The roses are in bloom in sprays of pink, white and yellow as a few well-mannered guests are led through the pride and joy suitably appreciative of the arrangement. This is of course a complete and utter fraud… games that get played for real with intensity…

Overhead the thin wisps of vapor trails zig and zag across the skies following silver glints of metal rocketing to god knows where… on the ground finger sandwiches are passed along on trays… isn’t the butter spread nicely?

What do you do he asks.
I am a poet.
Oh, how very interesting. So, what do you do?
I write and perform poetry.
Yes, but I mean, what is your real job.
Oh. I see what you mean. I am an intellectual terrorist.

If it were possible a freight train would at this point thunder through the valley with the lonesome cry of the whistle echoing back to the station where passenger board dreaming of coconut vacations doused in oils and the advantages of affordable wrist watches for swimming…