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a f t e r a p r i l 1 5, t h i s w o n 't m a t t e r
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H E R M A N B E A V E R S
Ok. So, I’ve never been to Idaho. That doesn't
mean that I don’t like
the way its shaped. And I’ve been told that shape
is half the battle.
I pick it up out of my son’s toy map. Does it
mean people in Boise, are seeing a UFO, a slightly
bloodshot, brown and white vessel looking for folks
to abduct? Don’t mind my self-absorption here.
I haven't paid my taxes yet and I worry that I
missed something and won’t get what's coming to me.
And I bet there’s somebody in Idaho, call him
Josiah, he’s worried that I won’t get what's
coming to me too, though he can’t put it into
words, its just a feeling that nags at him at the
oddest times, like when he's sliding out of his
truck or putting his toothbrush into the glass on
the counter, when he’s admiring the way the light
plays off the highlights in his wife's hair. He
wishes sometimes that she’d have that work done on
her breasts, that she’d do it so he could show her
his lack of interest was superficial, just a matter
of the rods and cones of his eyes lacking the
proper stimuli to fire in a sequence that ends with
a hand on a thigh. But this was about taxes
wasn't it? And isn't Idaho the kind of place where
a man like Josiah would look at me and figure I've
gotten all I deserve—and at his expense? Such
unpleasantness! I expect better from a shape of
Idaho's distinctiveness. There’s has to be a
better place. I must admit I’ve always had a soft
spot in my heart for Colorado. How can you go
wrong in the U.S. with a state whose shape pays
homage to the parallelogram, whose name starts with
color and ends with so much ado.
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