Very little was known about anything
in the old time. It was as a vocalise
is to a sonata, children in the limelight
and water rushing over stones
as though in a hurry to get somewhere.
It’s possible to joke about it now
that the trial period has lapsed.
To not admit you’re miscast.
America’s old churches were seen as a new
philosophy of one-upmanship:
playing, yet not part of the game.
Thus many things endure, and no one
gets very anxious about them: spots
like coins from a tree that who the heck
could have foreseen in its time anyway?
Just stand here. Call me potatoes
and soap. Call me soap and potatoes.
My husband’s fiancé wished it otherwise.
There you go.
--John Ashbery
photo by Henri Cartier-Bresson
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