By Kay Ryan
Everything contains some
silence. Noise gets
its zest from the
small shark's-tooth-
shaped fragments
of rest angled
in it. An hour
of city holds maybe
a minute of these
remnants of a time
when silence reigned,
compact and dangerous
as a shark. Sometimes
a bit of a tail
or fin can still
be sensed in parks.
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This will be a quickie because I have spent the past six hours having a Sharknado marathon and am exhausted from the intellectual twists and emotional resonance, particularly the Jesus imagery and birth metaphors, though I am not happy with the network's social media gimmick at the end. We watched the first one with Adam and Christine while we munched on bread, cheese, hummus, pita, and various fish-shaped crackers and candies, and we watched them all with Angela and Kevin, for whom Paul made crab cakes (they provided alcohol, though we did not drink every time we saw a shark or we'd all have been unconscious before the new movie, and Adam and I had veggie crab cakes). May we never have the particular POTUS-Veep combination of Oh Hell No! A gratuitous photo from the National Aquarium:
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