Against Simile

A g a i n s t S i m i l e

I take my coffee out to the porch and watch the death throes of mayflies strung up in the paper birch, like drop spindles or tangled kites. The spider here is implied, like the verb to be often in ancient Greek, the invisible thread joining two nominatives, subject and predicate. Like an equal sign, I tell my students. Then I think of Tom, who says I’m so sick of similes. Tom has a new heart, which of course makes him metaphorical and not at all like the mayflies.

For Tom Driscoll