Tuna Melts
by Michael C.
Keith
All theory, dear friend, is grey,
but the golden [sea] of
actual life springs ever green.
––
Goethe
“New Orleans reminds me of dark death, Hank.”
“How so, Fred? Explain what
you’re saying, my friend.”
“This is a city where they
stack corpses on top of one another ten high to
make room for new arrivals.”
“A sensible use of limited
urban space, I would say. So what’s your
point?”
“All those decaying bodies
dissolve into a common stew that eventually seeps
into Lake Ponchartrain.
“Okay, I think I’m with
you so far.”
“This waste coils out to the
Gulf and is consumed by the Albacore.”
“Nice to know that human
remains benefit nature.”
“Yeah, but Fishermen return the
decedent cells to the dinner tables of the homes
and restaurants throughout this area.”
“Sounds anthropomorphic, Fred.
A little like reincarnation.”
“Hank, I think I’ve solved
the age-old question of what causes multiple
personality disorder . . . seafood.”
“Lord, now that’s bizarre
thinking. You do come up with some oddball
statements that are really out there. Are you
taking your pills, Fred?”
“Who’s Fred?”
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