When we were boys we would
spit in the river.
Why would you
spit in the river?
We would spit in the river, but
we did not know why, but --
Will you ever know why?
-- but now we know why.
When we were boys we would
spit in the river, not so much spit
as stretch our necks and lean our bodies
over the river and let it gather
on the slippery smooth insides of our lips
and let it drip
down to join the river,
sort of like the prodigal son
returning to the father, or something.
Why would you spit in the river?
We would spit in the river but we did not know why.
Will you ever know why?
We will never know why.
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