The Atlas of the World by the
National Geographic Society
was always a volume - he preferred
it a folio for some reason - he
coveted
hed coveted it since he was a
boy a Midwestern landlocked boy of a large family
the first one he owned was a
hand-me-down of sorts
he bought at an Estate Sale
EVERYTHING MUST
GO!
EVERY REASONABLE
OFFER CONSIDERED!
the sale reeked . . . aint my shit and
I dont mind turning a quick buck . . .
ah . . . Family
the sale included old black-and-white
family photographs rare daguerreotypes
and
stereoscopic cards
maybe
because he had little knowledge of where he was from
all
his grandparents arrived
in-country during the early Twentieth
Century wearing the clothes on their backs and
clutching strapped-shut valises
their families disappeared during the Second War
the sale
offended him
so relentlessly morbidly obnoxiously
he jewed and jewed and pursued each and
every seller until they tired of
his bitching presence and sold it to him to get his crewcut and skinny wise-ass
out the door
he was affecting the attitude of
other buyers
REASONABLE
he supposed
is in the eye of the beholder
he certainly didnt see himself as
unreasonable
although he did see himself as
some small solace for the decedent
for their memory
their cherished
things pricetagged gypped and knowing full well they would not have
parted with a single possession
they were wear-worn heart-worn
this Atlas of the World was
lost in a fire lost beside two other
editions companions
he purchased when first they were issued
because he could afford them
he didnt have to jew there
was no one to harass*
the latest Atlas - a
First Edition - was nicely timed to the fire and the first
thing he
immediately replaced - before the Insurance money -
before the fighting for the
Insurance money ensued - the
niggling - nickel and diming
yes the jewing
he had no choice but to keep up
with the World because without paying
attention It
changed constantly before
his very eyes
It haunted him
how human constructs rendered
borders and geographies and countries names
after the fire he bitterly realized recognized there were always going to be Atlases
and NEVER
The
Atlast of the World
1708, Friday,
14 3. 14
* misspelled on purpose - the
luxury of harassing anyone who can spell correctly
