My father, for example,
who was young once
and blue-eyed,
returns
on the darkest of nights
to the porch and knocks
wildly at the door,
and if I answer
I must be prepared
for his waxy face,
for his lower lip
swollen with bitterness.
And so, for a long time,
I did not answer,
but slept fitfully
between his hours of rapping.
But finally there came the night
when I rose out of my sheets
and stumbled down the hall.
The door fell open
and I knew I was saved
and could bear him,
pathetic and hollow,
with even the least of his dreams
frozen inside him,
and the meanness gone.
And I greeted him and asked him
into the house,
and lit the lamp,
and looked into his blank eyes
in which at last
I saw what a child must love,
I saw what love might have done
had we loved in time.
I’m not talking about your belly button. The Navy CyberSpace Blog provides an anecdote about an anecdote that tries to make light of the word SHIT:
I said, “yes Sir, back in the days of wooden ships occasionally the cargo would be pressed cow manure stacked on pallets and placed in the hold. During the deployment the bilge would start to gain water and the hold would become very humid. The manure would start to decay and produce methane gas. When the Sailor would enter the space with a lantern the hold would explode. Once they realized the reason for these mysterious occurrences of fire they started to place banners on the sides of the pallets, (I demonstrated it graphically on the dry erase board) “Store High In Transit”. That Sir is the origin of the word, so feel free to express the word sh*t anytime you feel appropriate.” Everyone laughed and we got back to work.
The strange part of the story is how “The Admiral during one of his many questions said the word “Sh*t” which was followed by dead silence”. Dead silence? Why so uptight?
Anyway, this story illustrates humor as a key to authorization. The Admiral was allowed to use this word only after a humorous story has been provided.
a blog about the poetry of information security, since 1995