The Alley That Becomes a River When I Am Not Observing the Alley

Drawing by Kyle Goodrich


THE ALLEY THAT BECOMES A RIVER WHEN I AM NOT OBSERVING THE ALLEY

I was asked by a philosophy professor
who carried in a bag books by
Wittgenstein, Carnap, Ayer, Russell and Tarski
how many photos must you make of the alley
before you ascertain a river does not flow
where the alley is in the back of your house.
The philosophy professor kept talking:
It would serve your escapism just as well
to imagine shepherds asleep
and flocks of sheep grazing
on tall wild grasses
that grew out of your alley ruts
as to keep believing there is a river
in your alley.
You could smear scrawls on the tin
of your neighbor’s garage, and pretend
these blots were painting in a Lescaux cave.
A human being is born with a brain
that can believe anything.
He can even believe that a painting
of a Brillo box
by Andy Warhol is art.
I asked the philosophy professor
did he not hear
the rattle of a kingfisher
as the bird looks down
to see a black snake curled in a cluster
of hyacinths that are floating down the river.
He said “No,” he only heard
the creaking of the tin that the wind
was about to push from the garage.
I went inside to have my
five-o’clock-in-the-afternoon wine.
I looked out my window to see
the philosophy professor naked and soaking wet,
his hair was dripping river water,
and he was drying himself
with a long, blue towel.

Duane Locke

Posted over on 4*9*1