"‘Do you know what a poem is Esther?’
‘No what?’ I would say.
‘A piece of dust.’
Then just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would say, ‘So are the cadavers you cut up. So are the people you think you’re curing. They’re dust as dust as dust. I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.
And of course Buddy wouldn’t have an answer to that, because what I said was true. People were made of nothing so much of dust, and I couldn’t see doctoring all that dust was a bit better than writing poems people would remember and repeat to themselves when they were unhappy or sick and couldn’t sleep.
"
‘No what?’ I would say.
‘A piece of dust.’


