Tabula Rasa
(The Raised Table)
An aspiring surrealist placed a table on a friendly cloud
It had a lemony aroma having received a coat of Pledge
before elevation
It is a sign of the times he thought that the imagination
must be polished to be appreciated
In earlier days he reminisced such a table would still have
crumbs on it or drops of milk or saucy stains
But that is no longer thinkable in our cosmetic age
As he reflected the cloud began to drift with the breeze
but the table retained its place
A small plane passed over it and an apple core discarded
by the thoughtless pilot came to rest on the table
There goes the sheen fretted the surrealist more than ever
convinced that life and art are incompatible
Were this reality virtual rather than actual such a mishap
would have been avoided
Then and there he resolved to free himself from the unexpected
by rejecting fantasy in favor of technology
Certainty has its own integrity he reasoned and purity has
gained me nothing
Had he not recently been tenured this could not have happened
Coda
The table hangs above us yet
Some who see it point and comment suspecting some trick or
crass promotion
But most who pass do not acknowledge it
Perhaps they truly do not see it but I think otherwise
They are simply too clever to believe in tables unsupported by
clouds
12/6/95-12/6/96, 7/12/98
Copyright 1998 by Maurice Leiter
Posted with permission
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