After a while, I can't resist. So,
sheepish, I slink
over, lift the cloche
of reality,
anxious to behold
"pure theory."
Glancing around quick
I pick-
up this formidable word,
give it
a squeeze, guiltily
I feel its heft,
inspect
its girth—and find,
with dumb-
founded fingers, that it isn't
the iron-
hard and heavy
thing I'd always
imagined.
It's just this thin
and rutted alligator
skin, conserving (having
come this
far, I pierce it
with a pinky finger)
some crumbly in-
consequential fuzz
wrapping, in turn—nothing
but a tender
and pitiable
lack of imagination.
