Saturday, May 7, 2016

Existential Pragmatism

This morning when he sat down at the table to consider
the absorbing question of what confiture to choose

to spread upon his whole wheat toast he heard,
or thought he heard, the softest plaintive sigh behind him:

and turned round to see a ghost. The ghost seemed more
surprised than he. But he accepted everything: he was

the devotee of existential pragmatism: things are what they are
and what they have to be. So he resumed his pondering –

this time about the strangely vexing possibility that coffee
might not be for him, today, as much a treat as tea.


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