Prose Poem: Beijing Socks.

 

"I got these socks in Beijing

twenty years ago -- and they're 

still as good as new" I told our 

dinner guests.

They all dropped to the floor

to gaze under the table at

my socks.

Dark green, they are --

with fuzzy white specks.

"Woven from spruce thread"

I told them, once they had

reseated themselves.

The socks were a gift from

Jiang Zemin during a trade 

conference in Beijing.

I was there as a junior

plenipotentiary.

We successfully renegotiated 

cottonseed oil quotas.

Then went on to Malaysia

to arbitrate the annual copra appraisal.

That's where I learned that latex dentures

were just an urban myth.

The State Department was 

very interested in my information,

I can tell you that.

But my professional detachment

began to crumble a few years ago --

and my resignation caused few ripples

in Foggy Bottom;

I slipped away as quietly as 

smoke drifting through a picket fence.

Now, with Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, 

and Warren Buffet,

I'm investigating the possibilities

of duckweed.

It thrives in polluted water,

absorbing heavy metals.

It's been used as livestock fodder

for centuries.

Compressed into bricks, it

burns much cleaner and hotter

 than coal.

And the thread-like roots

can be spun into a durable

green fabric.

Like that used in my socks

from Jiang Zemin.

Joe Biden wants in, big time.

He's ponied up several trillion dollars

for our startup. 

And to top it off,

Oprah is interested in starting 

her own Duckweed Culinary Institute

to discover nutritious applications of

duckweed in urban food deserts . . .

If only God were still alive 

to see me now!