The serenity only a deliberate hebetude,
The wisdom only the knowledge of dead secrets
Useless in the darkness into which they peered
Or from which they turned their eyes. There is, it seems to us,
At best, only a limited value
In the knowledge derived from experience.

“Go ahead,” said Fred
And Bill gently laid the whole mess
Of catfish tail to snout into the oil
While Rita, Laura, Ruthie, Mae, Shirley, and Aunt Onley
Cleaned the corn, frosted cakes, brought out plates
While cousins played in the shallows watching for snakes
Wearing water lilies as hats squishing their toes
In the Mississippi’s mud (not) waiting for the meal
Καιρός του ποίησις