Whenever someone speaks of fishes, I want to leap into a river. I want to catch one with my teeth. Like a bear. I am not a bear. Whenever someone speaks of bears, I want to hide my quivers. Pretend I am brave, unafraid. Whenever someone speaks of being unafraid, I want to pitch a tent by myself. But not really, by myself. I want a lover, thoughtful, and hungry, and honest, and fair. Who might help protect me from bears. Who might let me help protect him, too. Whenever someone speaks of protection, I want to run wild. Not in rows around a track, though that might be better for my thighs. Whenever someone speaks of thighs, I think of chicken. Which makes me think of bravery again. Or rather, courage. Courage is the thing. It takes courage to live in this world and not be an asshole. Whenever someone speaks of assholes, I think of all the well-behaved, polite people who are assholes. It's crude. But the other day I met a fine asshole. It was a woman who was was brutally yelling at her husband. On thanksgiving. About curtains. They didn't match her living room. The way they agreed they should. Which obviously isn't the best example, because that woman was clearly being very rude (and not polite at all). Whenever someone's companion acts like this, all I can think about is catching a fish. With my teeth. Or maybe, just a glimmer of a fish, with my eyes. Or maybe nudging it's side, with my lips. Anything to touch something better than this sickness of fortunate arguments taking off with all the grown children at the table would do. I think of anything else she can. Besides the banal performances of bickering and manipulative discomfort, of useless banter ... So that I might muster something like courage. To not be an asshole. And say, "excuse me but, you are clearly being ridiculous and insipid. Look! You have everything here. But love - why not try some love, Mrs. Curtain?" But that would surely be misunderstood, and rude. I hope I can remember to not be an asshole. and have the courage to love.