On a Front Porch Near Paducah


Love, he spits by way of saying, to me,
these days, it’s like something Bosch did in his
Garden of Earthly Delights. something too
abstract and somehow sinister, something
misshapen and twisted by unholy
desire or longing or . . . don’t know what
as the French say though it sounds better ala
Francais . . . yeah, but this thing called love, it’s just
something weak men invented to hold their
women when strong men ruled the land; yep, it’s
a sappy ideal left over from some
age of fables—a mythology too
pretty for a lot of us to let go. I must say,
though: it’s a better god than none at all.

David M Pitchford
28 Sept 2011

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