Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Origins of Wednesday xxxvi: Vial of unintended consequences

    I have to believe, someone at NYU
    has already claimed a doctorate,
    translated into several languages,
    with the observation that an un-
    intended consequence of the peril-
    ously pubic-suspended waistband,
    has been an abrupt shortening of 
    our arms. Suddenly, spending mon-
    ey's out of reach, and explains,
    of course, the stovepipe gather-
    ing of superfluous trousering atop
    the Nikes, relying now more stren-
    lously than ever, upon the elevat-
    ing effect of their aerosol con-
    struction. But have restaurants
    adapted? Are the tables shrunk, to
    accommodate the diminished reach;
    has Emily Post been edited, on pas-
    sing the salt? Is this new fashion
    the root cause, if you will, of
    driverless motoring, and has any-
    one accounted better for the pro-
    liferation of keyboard duets? I
    live in the sticks; I could send
    you some, bundled and centrally
    bound, for urbanity's sake.

    But I stray. In a political sys-
    tem as responsive as ours, to
    a dire urgency of ameliorations
    of one kind or other, its branches
    will break a discernible sweat on
    the project of retaliatory arms,
    to close this abysmal gap between
    pubic confidence and real security.
    (Frame any question martially, and
    the whole government is yours).

    Calisthening, ever preening, as if
    not their fault our tower's leaning.
    We find them adopting the same solu-
    ion, myriad times, but its glory is
    what counts, where sanity's simply 
    out of reach. Riding with the Turks,
    today; a novelty, we'd have to say.

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