The Metropolitan
January/February 2021
Playable Lie What is it ball, you ask of me, consubstantial with this tree, nestled in your soft surrounding, comfortable but not belonging? Why must you ask persistently, as if these things were meant to be, as if the world would be too simple, round and smooth instead of dimpled? When was this evil plan embraced, to persecute the human race, to advocate adversity and banish serendipity? Who on earth shall ever know, dare I move you with my toe? This day was going oh so well, until aside this tree you fell. But wherein lies the satisfaction, strength or honor in such action? I know ball, as you hug this tree, You only ask humility. - O’Neill
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