By Eileen Tabios

Posted by The Happy Tutor

A former banker, now a poet, writes,

—I have never observed a banker express regret—perhaps an occupational hazard for money, not philosophy, is at stake—
for money, not Beauty, was put at risk—

The poem freely associates love in maturity, a prostitute's brassierre, regret, courage, and Eileen's own unborn children. At least this poem was born, alive and howling. You might say the baby was born in the Dumpster just outside Wealth Bondage.

Comments

[Mistress]

So, what's actually happening here, beyond curlicues and geegaws?

Just wondering.

Well, of course, I understand that it's so sweet that you're conflicted. Or have been, in the past, one hopes?

Sigh.

[Gerry]

Where's here? The poem or WB? Seems to me that much is happening in both, but you must have the eyes to see it and the ear to hear it.

I'm not sure where you see the conflicted thoughts either. The Tutor often highlites authors of wit and insight. The conflict is in the subject, not the artist.

[Tutor]

Complacent, Mistress, we are not. Still teaching critical reading after all these years, pro bono publico, to passersbye, not all of whom, shall we say, have realized their full potential. Learning is active. No amount of teaching can make up for a supine learner. The first step is to move from unconscious to conscious imcompetence, Mistress, if I may be so bold.