George wants to
know what we’re going to talk about.
Well, I don’t know,
I tell him.
I guess about
what’s on the other side of the wall.
Okay, he says,
what’s on the other side of the wall?
Grass, I answer. And trees.
England. Dogs. Cats
Birds and cows and
children and French fries.
Music, some of it
beautiful. Pictures and art.
Questions about
steam and smoke and words that
cannot be
pronounced.
All of these things
and more.
Hmmmn, he replies,
I know about most of
those things.
I’m not sure what’s
in it for me.
You can’t want to
be inside of those walls,
I protest.
It must be boring,
and so lonely.
Boring, no, he
says, because I still have
my mind.
Lonely,
sometimes. But I wasn’t made to
feel much.
I could ask what
you were made to do,
I reply.
But I don’t think I
want to know.
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