guessing a lot, chiefly in
the auditory realm, where I am less and less
acute, which leads to masses
of amusement on the home front—Mom
in orbit!—and what must
by now approximate a twenty-point
drop in the quotient we call IQ.
Endearing’s not my
strong suit but I’ll take what I can get.
is what I thought I heard tonight but
surely that’s not possible? All that ozone lost?
A single Arctic winter? I
had thought those were the healing months
for snowpack, but it
seems the stratospheric ice does something
with the sunlight that’s inim- ical. Unfriendly
in the long run to the cold.
So cold against itself. Which we
have done. Which, if
I may compare great things to small, is what
my doctor thinks may be the trouble with my ear:
by-blow of the larger,
chronic proneness to construe what might
have been benign
as something to be fought. So malleus,
stapes, hammer and tongs. I’ve seen the enemy and he …
etc. On an island in
the Tyrifjord in Norway several days ago,
a man who said
he’d come for their protection
and, what’s worse, who with a not-before-un-
of-the-world excuse for logic really
thought that was the case, hunted down and shot
as many people as he could.
Obsession at the barricades, which when
it goes wrong in the body
we label as autoimmune. The body ingenious.
Body so resilient he chose soft-point bullets
to better his odds. At least,
said the girl in the newscast, he was one
of us, and everyone knew
exactly what she meant.