More Reading Habits
His son has become a great lover of books
And is just now tearing through his first novel,
The Brothers Karamazov. He's six-months-old,
A prodigy in diapers seated on the floor.
Ripping along page after page, he curls
The deconstructed fragments in his fingers,
Waves them overhead to see how they fly,
Then sticks them in his mouth, chews, savoring
The complex flavors that survive his translation.
Pausing, reflective, he decides for himself
Whether to swallow the story or to spit it out,
for he's already a connoisseur, a shrewd
Poststructuralist founding his own school.
And there, at the table, is Pops, Daddy, Old
Blood and Guts, heaped over his platters,
Trying to digest what happens to the father
In this tale, buffoon who gets, alas, what he deserves.