The Myth of Wile E

Curiosity Seekers

Now, it may be true that not many people liked poetry, but apparently some people liked the idea of a poetry stand.

"Roadside curiosity" seekers-mostly groups of college kids from Crawfish Gulch Poly-Tech-would cram into hatchbacks like circus clowns on a field trip, and come check me out. They wanted to know why I was selling poetry but giving food away for free: was this some sort of performance art, some sort of protest? When I tried to explain the situation-my encounter with the mogul and the deputy and such-they were outraged. They wanted to hear all about my "small, green business" and its epic battle against (depending on the person's political leanings) either "big government" or "corporate profiteers."

The thing is, I'd been thinking a lot about the mogul, and I'd come to the conclusion that maybe the way he was-impossibly rich, I mean-wasn't entirely his fault. Maybe it was just, well, science. Wasn't it true that the greater something's mass, the stronger its gravitational pull? And nowhere was this more true than with money. When someone had amassed a big enough fortune, it was like all smaller piles of money were irresistibly attracted to it. Maybe the mogul just couldn't help pulling more and more money towards himself with less and less effort, pulling it the fastest from people whose fortunes had the smallest mass. If he couldn't figure out how to stop, he would eventually become infinitely dense, and then collapse . . . or explode, I forgot which.

I tried to explain this, and folks nodded, and I even tried to explain that maybe the best way for the rest of us to resist powerful mogul-types was for all us little guys to pull together, and who knows? Maybe then the mogul's fortune would be irresistibly pulled toward our mass, and break apart in our atmosphere.

The curiosity seekers cheered.

With that settled, I asked if anyone would maybe like a poem?

But then some folks started chanting "less government" and some other folks started chanting "power to the proletariat" and a brawl erupted, and no one seemed at all interested in pulling together-or, for that matter, the poems.

After an hour of this the media showed up (well, two mediums), in the form of a Heresburg news reporter and an Elsedale news reporter. They looked like Ken and Barbie, though their actual names were something like Kyle and Ashley. Both had alarmingly white teeth and immobile, Lego-person hair. I had no idea where they came from. Maybe journalists can sense distant commotion the way animals can sense earthquakes.

According to Ken, I was just one of many hardworking, ordinary Americans who were losing their homes to foreclosure, due to the unethical schemes of "vulture investors." Ken waved some papers at the camera, and said, "According to court documents obtained by ActionNews-"

"Wait . . . what?" I said. I'd never been described as "ordinary" before. Never mind "hardworking."

Barbie described me as a "struggling family farmer whose crops had suffered due to the encroachment of an environmentally irresponsible real estate developer," and who, in a tragic turn of events, had been "reduced to selling 'light verse' in lieu of normal crops, like the troubadours of old, compelled to sing for their supper."

I tried to explain that this was not entirely true . . . that for one thing I did not just write "light" verse.

I pointed to the copy of "Ode to Light" the reporter was exhibiting for the camera. "If you flip it over, there's an "Ode to Darkness" too," I said.

The reporter looked at the poem, and then looked at me. Looked at the poem, looked at me.

"See?" I said.

She tilted her head to the side, and looked at me like an African grey parrot trying to discern the purpose of a spoon.

"It's reversible," I explained.

Barbie looked to her cameraman and dragged her fingertips across her throat.

Both news crews tried to get footage of the brawling curiosity seekers. But the curiosity seekers were so excited to see real television cameras that they'd taken out their cell phones to get video of the news crews. The news crews were filming the curiosity seekers filming the news crews filming the curiosity seekers, and so on times infinity until Escher himself would get a headache.

The reporters turned back to their cameras, signed off with their station numbers, and headed to their news vans. As they went in their separate directions I thought I saw Ken and Barbie exchange wistful glances and then look away, like Romeo and Juliet star-crossed by irreconcilable pie loyalties.

Unfortunately, I didn't sell a single syllable that day, and what's worse, the curiosity seekers made off with all my road signs.