There is a bag lady on Asylum Street who speaks in tongues,
which ones, I have no idea. She says that her life has been
like a blind man reading lips in an insane asylum.
“You don’t know who to believe.”
She says she is, of all things on this earth,
the ventriloquist for the universe.
“I’m the one who puts words in your mouth
and makes you speak,” she claims.
“That‘s insane,” I told her.
“You see,” she said. “I just did it again.”
“Are you telling me you put all the words in everyone’s mouth?”
“Didn’t I just say that,” she said. “How could you?”
“It‘s hard work,” she said. “I haven‘t got the time for this,” I said.
“I’m not in charge of Time,” she said. He’s in charge of Time.”
She pointed to a man carrying a green plastic bag
filled it seemed with redeemable bottles and cans.
“It’s a bad night for mouth-breathers at the redemption center,” she said.
I left her there. She’s crazy as a loon. What did she think, I was a fool?
Besides, I saw her lips move.
