Villainy

I have failed as a villain, and my enterprises as a scoundrel have only gone slightly better. You leave the table with your water glass unattended and I can only put the bread in your plate...after I've buttered it for you. I smoke my bread and drink my bread. Join me in a loaf. The children have returned and I wonder if they know I have four dimensions like everyone else. All I can think about is the fair in the distance, folding over the moldy towers downtown. I see the roller coaster and the ferris wheel. I wonder if I'll go this year to chase phantoms in a flimsy flyer. If I go I'll go drunk. And I wonder if this year will turn again and if there is an escape from the inevitable, the scripted, the rehearsed. I have practiced my role well but think I am better suited to write the script. If I could write, oh the things I'd write. It would be an unrealistic movie and there would be justice. The intangible would matter and pragmatism and ego-centrism would die with the hearts of those antagonists. The characters would grow and the ending would be happy. Thermodynamics and relativity would be relevant. There would be consequences. A hurricane would spring from a kiss because nothing unseen would be insignificant. But I would be blind, with knotted hands and a thick cane to crack.