The "I" Postpones Nirvana

by Jim McCurry

Doubtless I chose to be here. It was no motherly fault. I sit silently waiting for the big hand to merge with the little hand at XII. To start the movie. Certainly one cannot blame the present mothers killing time before the Aristotle movie, speaking in two separate groups of getting their tubes tied. Their tubes, not mine. One girl says it was the program got her pregnant. Another cites stress. A third concurs, her voice like windchimes. The nursing program, a fourth avers, is a bearcat. I stroke my bald head. Methinks I am here because of Pearl Harbor for instance. I start the movie. Once more into the breach. Doubtless