Leaving Devon Island
by Meredith L. Patterson
Originally appeared in Pif, October 1999.
I'm getting kinda tired of natural beauty. I mean, it's nice; and I don't mind the dirt And sun and wind too much, and I've been after Some peace and quiet long enough that this Is overdue. But, still, I've had enough. I've walked on ice and slept on pointy rocks Sufficiently, and seen the Arctic terns And foxes run for cover far too often To think that Nature wants me here at all. Why would it? Nature's not a thing that wants. The mice and lemmings go their own way here; they do not care for wayward nerds. I thought, one morning that I couldn't tell from night, that I'd be glad to go back to the city because the city wants me. That's wrong too. It doesn't, and the island doesn't either – but I want it. I want a place someone Designed with one deliberate goal in mind – to make me feel at home. I don't recall Just who referred to houses as "machines For living in," but that guy had it right. We had the earth at first, and it was firm And lasting, but it wasn't what we needed.
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