Curious that I can’t laugh at myself
without also crying a little.
The foible that generates the laugh
was once a venerated bias,
social illusion I had clung to,
action I knew was significant,
reciprocal acceptance of flaw,
a fairy tale taught early to me,
mind hair that smarted when tweezed out.
And how naked I felt just after,
clutching for another fig leaf
to better hide my uncertainty,
to shield my psychic manhood from probes,
to think I had reached the New Truth
only to discern the new foible
and have to laugh again at myself.
Life consists of undressing enough
to acquire a spiritual tan.
—
Ed Ahern resumed writing after forty-odd years in foreign intelligence and international sales. He’s had 200 stories and poems published so far, and three books. He also works the other side of writing at Bewildering Stories, where he sits on the review board and manages a posse of five review editors.
—
Like what you read? Please consider a contribution to keep The MOON shining. There are two ways to contribute: via our secure PayPal link, or our Patreon page, where you can become a continuing supporter of The MOON for as little as $1/month. (To you beautiful souls who already support The MOON, thank you! Your contributions keep us going!)
No comments yet.