Pausing to reflect
on the boundless wisdom
of Einstien, Gallileo
and Archimedes,
I decide
to hit it
with something,
not thinking
of the shopping moms
who are slowly pausing
in their efforts
to get their children off the ceiling
and such,
to marvel
at a soaked man,
beating on a car hood
with his left boot
yelling "Click-- CLICK!"
The paking lot policeman,
who is also pausing
in his cruser and rolling
down the window to observe
seems to gleen the situation
with all the cunning and guile
of dried dog poop.
"What's going on?"
he asks--
"What's going on?"
I think--
Why, who am I to question
the intricate clock-work perfection
of the infinite universe,
that the great creator,
the All-father, All-mother
of existance
has apparently
accidentally
put a few too many times
through the wash
and then lost under their sofa,
no doubt right next
to a favorite pen?
So, gripping the replacement high,
I reply "My windshield-wiper is Chinese."
Mr.Cop stares from behind
his irridescent "Term-i-nat-or" shades,
which in a thunderbolt of wisdom
I suddenly point at
and add
"Your sunglasses are probably Chinese, too!"
Refusing to deny or confirm,
He rolls up the window and drives off,
realizing it is never a good idea
to metaphorically stick your hand
into a cage
labeled "Crazy Monkey",
no matter who you are...
Defeat can be fun to grasp sometimes,
and with the thought
the blade suddenly clicks,
nice and neat,
and I drive away,
for rain is the same
from here to Nanking,
and the view is cleared--
until halfway home
I almost smile
watching my new Chinese wiper
again fly off
into freedom...
or something almost like it.