One day while walking home from work
at the Washington Post
Paul Farhi (who reports on style)
found an old carpet bag.
It had an antique rose dusky pattern.
He was enchanted by it.
And since it was just lying by
a street lamp
apparently abandoned
he picked it up to bring home.
At home a wonderful scent
drifted up from the bag
when he opened it.
It reminded him of warm misty nights
on the dock of a lake
and the sound of children
gently breathing in their sleep.
There was nothing inside the bag
as far as he could tell.
But after the bag was open
all sorts of blessings came to him.
His editor praised his work
and gave him a raise.
Cottage cheese tasted like Camembert.
As long as Paul kept the bag open
his life was redolent with good things.
But when he shut the bag the toilet
backed up
and the tires on his car went bald.
So he tried to open the bag again.
But he couldn't get it to unclasp.
When he jimmied it open
with a screwdriver
there was a fearful wail
before red foxes began dancing.
Dancing around his living room.
With cruel grins and sarcastic
barks.
They are still at it in Paul's
living room.
But he has moved out;
into the
Mandarin Oriental Hotel.
*************************************8
Mr. Farhi's emailed response to the above:
"Thanks. There’s a lesson in this for all of us. I’m just not sure what it is."
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