At lunch with a pregnant woman, you talk about ordinary life, family, summer, the food, the elation of the kids at the graduation we’d attended that morning and the pride of their parents, and we never set foot in politics at all. The naked ex-emperor is 77 and he is irrelevant to the life around us so it’s a pleasure to ignore him. By the time this boy gets around to studying American fascism, I will be gone from the world and unconcerned about the weaponization of falsehoods. But I want to leave something behind that this boy might cherish. I don’t expect him to read my novels. I only want him to know I existed and that I was capable of delight. E.g.––
We live by kindness and grace,
Good manners, books, an embrace,
Good water, good light,
A pencil to write,
And a bright orange stub to erase,
And yet I cannot forget
Those great bawdy stories, you bet,
When we sat with good folks
And told dirty jokes
Until everyone’s trousers were wet.
God bless the child. I don’t know his name but I pray for him diligently day by day.
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