The Adventures of Kudos the Poet - Part VIII
In the kitchen, Aunt Wei-Wei poured several tablespoons of water into the pot to make the sweet rice creamier. "So you found him," she asked and answered.
"Sometimes you are the seventy-eight year old great aunt of a young man who discovers a starving poet on the roof of a bed-and-breakfast, and that is the way life works. Even before your pre-breakfast manicure, the day has already begun."
My great-aunt and I had been talking about professional tennis rankings last night, and I wanted to change the subject to the immigration debates in Congress instead of Kudos, but she crossed the conversation-change finish line first. Still, I thought, if one imagined our chat thus far as the first leg of a triathalon...
"We are a nation of immigrants," I replied, "I don't understand the anti-immigrant rhetoric. It's always about interest groups."
"Kudos is not an immigrant. He is a poet. He is always at home. Don't you know that poets are always at home," Wei-Wei asked and answered, while layering a piece of toast with lemon caramel margarine.
"At any rate, I think that it's doubtful that either the Democrats or the Republicans have enough votes to get any bill out of the Senate this term," I replied.
"Kudos has been living on the roof for the past nine months. But the neighbors haven't noticed. Maybe if he wrote fiction. Nobody notices poets," Wei-Wei asked and answered.
"Still, I wonder if any senator would fillibuster if a proposal looked like it would pass," I replied.
"Many of the poems that Kudos has written are almost publishable. None of that racial/ethnic identity stuff about food. That won't get you a third look these days with hardly any editors. But I like flarf. I think that he should start a blog," Wei-Wei asked and answered.
Aunt Wei-Wei handed me a porcelain plate with two pieces of half-burnt toast, an ice cream scoopful of rice, and two slices of Canadian bacon.
"I'll take it up to Kudos," I sighed. "Is there anything you want me to tell Kudos?"
"Yes," she replied. "Tell him amnesty is unlikely. Politics can be tough in an election year."
"Sometimes you are the seventy-eight year old great aunt of a young man who discovers a starving poet on the roof of a bed-and-breakfast, and that is the way life works. Even before your pre-breakfast manicure, the day has already begun."
My great-aunt and I had been talking about professional tennis rankings last night, and I wanted to change the subject to the immigration debates in Congress instead of Kudos, but she crossed the conversation-change finish line first. Still, I thought, if one imagined our chat thus far as the first leg of a triathalon...
"We are a nation of immigrants," I replied, "I don't understand the anti-immigrant rhetoric. It's always about interest groups."
"Kudos is not an immigrant. He is a poet. He is always at home. Don't you know that poets are always at home," Wei-Wei asked and answered, while layering a piece of toast with lemon caramel margarine.
"At any rate, I think that it's doubtful that either the Democrats or the Republicans have enough votes to get any bill out of the Senate this term," I replied.
"Kudos has been living on the roof for the past nine months. But the neighbors haven't noticed. Maybe if he wrote fiction. Nobody notices poets," Wei-Wei asked and answered.
"Still, I wonder if any senator would fillibuster if a proposal looked like it would pass," I replied.
"Many of the poems that Kudos has written are almost publishable. None of that racial/ethnic identity stuff about food. That won't get you a third look these days with hardly any editors. But I like flarf. I think that he should start a blog," Wei-Wei asked and answered.
Aunt Wei-Wei handed me a porcelain plate with two pieces of half-burnt toast, an ice cream scoopful of rice, and two slices of Canadian bacon.
"I'll take it up to Kudos," I sighed. "Is there anything you want me to tell Kudos?"
"Yes," she replied. "Tell him amnesty is unlikely. Politics can be tough in an election year."
posted by Roger Pao at 6:08 PM
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