Two Epicureans Met Up at a Bar
A little poem about a little puzzle
*DON’T CLICK THE “LISTEN” BUTTON ABOVE! THEIR ROBOT IS BAD AT POEMS!*
(BUT I read this poem on SPOTIFY here.)
If you’ve read much of my writing here, you might already know that Rhettie and Wally split their time between Lafayette, Indiana and “Ade Country” about 50 miles NW of there. They’re explorers. They’re pioneers. They’re trying to make Bug Stu come to life, because right now he only appears in Rhettie’s dreams. And that’s not going to save the planet, let alone the galaxy.
The Authentically Epicurean-Curious
Two Epicureans met up at a bar
to continue their talk about pleasure.
It’s Rhettie and Wally, they hadn’t walked very far
after coffees and defining their quest, their endeavor.
“We seek the Grail,” and they raised their beers,
with a clink and a laugh they were off.
Arthurian legends, philosophy, cheers,
for a quest and questions that would take them aloft.
“Epicurean-curious is how I started out,”
Wally paused as his smile turned to frown
just to think and explain how his dad had maintained
complex contemplation was how they were renowned.
“I mean, God love St. Paul, but his speech, after all,
was aimed at a different…point.
Epicureans weren’t base, and restraint had its place,
it was which metaphysics, to adopt…to anoint.”
“Grandma Dorie would say a similar thing,”
Rhettie said as she nodded her head.
“She’s such a reader, my…philosophical leader,
and her stance she sums up as Indstead.”
“Indstead, with a d, I mean two, I mean see…”
as she wrote it on a dry extra napkin.
“Independent, but nice, searching, as We,
and aware of the traps we get trapped in.”
“Should we have one more?” Wally asked, eyebrows high,
as he wondered about Rhettie’s Grandma Dorie.
“I suppose…just one more,” as she feigned a fake sigh.
See, she needed to go on with her story.
“Grandma has a thing about college and learning,
so she never attempted to go.
She’s smart and yearning, for…understanding,
but degrees and decrees, she says, ‘don’t make it so.’”
“‘We’re always going to be a little…dimly lit,’
she’d say, sipping her coffee or tea.
‘But that doesn’t mean we can’t mostly get it,
if we mix honest thought and think practically.’”
Then Rhettie looked straight into Wally’s eyes,
and said, “That’s what Epicurus was saying!”
Wally replied, “Yeah, he wouldn’t have denied,
it could even work best with some singing and praying.”
“Where have you been all this time?!
I mean this, this deeper…philosophical side.”
Then Wally looked away, to think of a rhyme,
he’d noticed a pattern, in their speech, so he tried…
“I just wanted to know who you really were.
I wanted to know, not just hope, but be sure,
I could share with you what I’ve been thinking.
I’m ready to leave my marketing role,
and go deep in this thing…without…”
“Blinking!” Rhettie said.
“No, sinking!” she decided instead.
Wally smiled, as he put both his hands on his head.
“I couldn’t decide, but yes, either one,
and I don’t see the funds, but I do see the fun.
And I think we can start with a radio show,
about Stu, and the rest, and music, and Slow…”
“Not slowly!” she exclaimed,
as she banged her glass down,
“Bug Stu needs us now!”
with an exaggerated frown,
then they clinked beers again,
and then Wally leaned in
and grinned, “I didn’t mean ‘slowly’
— you never wait for the end.”
He was referring to Slow,
as in a movement years back,
a way to bring more,
than fast-paced mind hacks.
And Rhettie liked it, too,
and even Grandma Dorie knew,
it had promise, she’d say, “One of few,
of what’s new.”
The puzzle, as we know,
is how to make something go,
when politics taints every thought.
So Bug Stu has a plan, about taking a stand,
and fighting a foe that some spaceships brought.
A nonpartisan Ought, for a world that is fraught,
with sophistry’s songs we should never have bought.
(To be continued)
