he spoke at length
an ocean of words
compressed
into a
thimble of thought.
miraculous in
its own way.
I muttered
to my neighbor:
"duza kupa"
roughly, this means
"a big pile."
we don't say
such things around here,
she told me.
that's your
basic problem, I thought.
a little truth
now and then
would be refreshing, I thought.
maybe the
windbags of Warsaw
might be persuaded
to inhale
now and then, I thought.
instead, I said:
ok. I'm sorry. just
learning a new
language, you know.
cowardice is the
root of all
employment.
