Meeting Borges

Standing before me, an old man,
His eyes half-closed and the mouth half-opened
Ready to say something,
Except he doesn’t.

In his hands, an old oriental ladies’ fan;
He unfolds it, segment by segment,
Each with its own design,
Each plucking a different chord.
Soon the fan is fully opened and shows yet another design.
“Ah, I get it.” I say.
“You think so”, says he, “Let me show you”
He snaps the fan shut and unfolds it again.
The designs are different yet familiar,
They include me looking at the fan.
“Oh, I get it now.” I say.


Borges makes a face and walks away in disgust.