Helen Conkling: I Knew an Eccentric

I once knew an eccentric electrician.
We had a lot in common.
He wrote poetry and I did.
We both liked pasta.
His poems were complex.
Reading them was like riding a funnel-shaped wind inward.
Finally, I said, “Don’t show me any more of them
and don’t keep talking about unknown galaxies
and how small we are.
I already know that,” I said.
“And fragile,” he added.