The Peach Boy

                I bring my GI Orient and Paul, 4,
his dubbed cartoon of Saturday morn-
ing monsters in outer space yet
he hasn't much to lose as I
                exclude Sigmund's and Carl's
inner-space hardware store cause

play opens with the father discovering this great peach in a stream,
once home the old couple uncover                 a baby inside as samisens bridge
my life

                                in sound back to a small dim room of a
Tokyo club where a guy picks a tune from this white
                                baby grand and I'm in raw company

                alone then, with my girl better and worse
I'm tearing at a steak and throwing back Nip-
pon beer. Cocksure, but she's hushing me now,

because the guy composes,                 the pale
lid floating inclined on his                 smoky progressions
                in my sliding mind

the Peach Boy has grown
up, is prowling the audience                 when from his
silk, peach light widens over                 little Paul

beautifully glow meets glow.                 Where's the
dragon? he asks                 just so                       we're all peach
                children, grand babies born to save
                the world, rope the ogres round.

Now the Peach Boy's finally up to that onstage.
                The witch knifing in she's run through
                for her trouble. It has to be to move us to
a place
                        where a far dark house and tree
                        press moon and clouds between.
                        Water spreads to us from there.
                        In the muted air and soft-lit spill
                        are all of my selves still
                        with Paul's. We name all we see
                        and think eternally,
a lake.



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About the author: I've been running this website from 1997. For a living I write stories and essays, program computers, edit things, and help people launch online publications. (LinkedIn). I wrote a novel. I was an editor at Harper's Magazine for five years; then I was a Contributing Editor; now I am a free agent. I was also on NPR's All Things Considered for a while. I still write for The Morning News, and some other places.

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© 1974-2011 Paul Ford


@20, by Paul Ford. Not any kind of eulogy, thanks. And no header image, either. (October 15)

Recent Offsite Work: Code and Prose. As a hobby I write. (January 14)

Rotary Dial. (August 21)

10 Timeframes. (June 20)

Facebook and Instagram: When Your Favorite App Sells Out. (April 10)

Why I Am Leaving the People of the Red Valley. (April 7)

Welcome to the Company. (September 21)

“Facebook and the Epiphanator: An End to Endings?”. Forgot to tell you about this. (July 20)

“The Age of Mechanical Reproduction”. An essay for (July 11)

Woods+. People call me a lot and say: What is this new thing? You're a nerd. Explain it immediately. (July 10)

Reading Tonight. Reading! (May 25)

Recorded Entertainment #2, by Paul Ford. (May 18)

Recorded Entertainment #1, by Paul Ford. (May 17)

Nanolaw with Daughter. Why privacy mattered. (May 16)

0h30m w/Photoshop, by Paul Ford. It's immediately clear to me now that I'm writing again that I need to come up with some new forms in order to have fun here—so that I can get a rhythm and know what I'm doing. One thing that works for me are time limits; pencils up, pencils down. So: Fridays, write for 30 minutes; edit for 20 minutes max; and go whip up some images if necessary, like the big crappy hand below that's all meaningful and evocative because it's retro and zoomed-in. Post it, and leave it alone. Can I do that every Friday? Yes! Will I? Maybe! But I crave that simple continuity. For today, for absolutely no reason other than that it came unbidden into my brain, the subject will be Photoshop. (Do we have a process? We have a process. It is 11:39 and...) (May 13)

That Shaggy Feeling. Soon, orphans. (May 12)

Antilunchism, by Paul Ford. Snack trams. (May 11)

Tickler File Forever, by Paul Ford. I'll have no one to blame but future me. (May 10)

Time's Inverted Index, by Paul Ford. (1) When robots write history we can get in trouble with our past selves. (2) Search-generated, "false" chrestomathies and the historical fallacy. (May 9)

Bantha Tracks. (May 5)

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