Of Mice and Men II

by Hugh Smith

“The moon of her – is that for sleeping?” There were rules here, sure; plant corn here, wheat there, then wait and leave this one blank, with a sign saying incomplete. Print hundreds of those signs but don't let them get into the wrong hands! And if you planted anything at the wrong time, the banker would plant you, in the exact place you'd planted whatever it was, and you'd be made into whichever of the four cheerio “o”s you'd, (that's corn, oats, rice and wheat to you, sis) in his words – always whispered – misused. That was just the rules, and it wasn't all bad; when the sunlight filtered in, nearly half the guys in the room let a smile out, just couldn't conceal it, and sitting down in small circles, wrote their feelings down without lying or telling the truth, which was art. The circles grew until the whole place got too busy, and the women, kneeling on some other half of time, rested their cheeks with a sense that it would end well, if it ended, and if not, if it didn't end now, then how long could it possibly take? Haven't the stars being signifying just this for eternity? Their cheeks glowed – it was wonderful.