I wanted to have them over for dinner,
those tycoons,
they were,
Hughes, Hearst, Thalberg, even Valentino if he had survived,
he would have been fun,
but then again, Rockefeller,
and Edison,
but if you're going to have Edison,
then you have to have Columbus,
and for me,
Columbus was a thief, not an entrepreneur,
definitely more of an opportunist,
if anything
and if Whitcomb Riley would sit at the head of the table,
and Lincoln at the other,
I could make them my bookends,
not pawns,
so much as lofty observers,
narrators,
moderators,
even
I think it would be a blood bath,
first for whatever food they put on the table,
for those unfortunate table top torsos,
since they were,
no doubt,
carnivores,
as their peripherals at the time gave them no other choice,
but then we would be bathed in crimson,
for much more grim reasons than that of the novelty of venison,
bloodied by their own teeth,
their own grins,
because they were cannibals
and if their innards had not yellowed with every headline they left in their wake,
every fable they told as true,
then I should leave in tact,
arm in arm with the purebred bookies,
holding their tongues with nothing but hope,
and the dream of the arc bending in much the same way the good Doctor said it would
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