After I heard It's a Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall played softly by an accordion quartet through the ceiling speakers at the Springdale Shopping Mall, I understood there's nothing we can't pluck the stinger from,
nothing we can't turn into a soft drink flavor or a t-shirt. Even serenity can become something horrible if you make a commercial about it using smiling, white-haired people
quoting Thoreau to sell retirement homes in the Everglades, where the swamp has been drained and bulldozed into a nineteen-hole golf course with electrified alligator barriers.
You can't keep beating yourself up, Billy I heard the therapist say on television to the teenage murderer, About all those people you killed— You just have to be the best person you can be,
one day at a time—
and everybody in the audience claps and weeps a little, because the level of deep feeling has been touched, and they want to believe that the power of Forgiveness is greater than the power of Consequence, or History. Dear Abby: My father is a businessman who travels. Each time he returns from one of his trips, his shoes and trousers are covered with blood- but he never forgets to bring me a nice present; Should I say something? Signed, America.
I used to think I was not part of this, that I could mind my own business and get along,
but that was just another song that had been taught to me since birth—
whose words I was humming under my breath, as I was walking through the Springdale Mall.