in rural Paris, Iowa, and Wordpress

Super Moon*

I have always been reasonably adept at detecting the minor prevarication here and there. Yet, I have been too often vulnerable to the grand, bare-faced lie. Many times I have loved the poetry of a Big Lie so much that I have embraced it, as one would a literal and enduring Truth, and acted upon it. My own appreciation of this vulnerability has not been much help to me in the face of a large lie with a little poetry about it. Fortino’s outrageous patter that he invokes in selling me an over-priced truck wash, for example, is on a par with something like, say, “You are the lover of my life. You have ruined me for any other man.” To which my startled, wide-eyed response was–as soon as I had caught my breath, “Oh, my goodness, I had no idea! I’m so sorry . . . . Well, then. We must get married.” That seemed to me the least that I ought do in view of the dreadful position in which I had put the young lady. Should I simply move on, she in the blush of her youth faced the prospect of a long, remaining lifetime of celibacy, a fate for which she was clearly unsuited. This all had come about unintentionally on my part, but still, I felt that I ought to have been more careful. Imagine my surprise and relief when I learned, well short of a lifetime later, that her ruination had mended quite nicely.

*A Super Moon: The Moon as it appears when it is closest to the planet Earth. Happens once a year. I photographed this one on 6 May 2012 at 1:07 a.m. Central Time from the patio. I marks the only time that I have been delighted with the effect of a chromatic aberration.

4 Responses to “Super Moon*”

    • StephenBrassawe

      Now you tell me, Deb! I love my poetry to a fault. Yet, one must keep in mind, even as one joyfully indulges one’s self in it, that much poetry is simply a glittery wrapper for a large lie.

  1. Deb

    The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress, a little ode (ok, not and ode but more of a shout out, you got me stuck on the poetry thing) to Heinlein and your picture, and so is the truth. Hmm, I totally lost where I was going with that…

    Anyway, succumb to poetry if you will, but isn’t it possible to find a poet who does not lie?


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