The jar man looked inside a jar
He saw a wriggly thing
It looked all squiggly-wroggly-rot
Like squid that barfed up string.
‘Good lord,’ he said, ‘I thought I’d put
My kidney beans in here.
Instead, I find this squiggle-clod
How twimberingly queer.’
The squiggle-clod, when it breathed out
Made all the jar-glass fog
Its skin was moist and pinkish-gray
Like thick mid-morning smog.
‘What do you want, then, squiggle-clod?’
The clod said, with a wince
‘I want for you to read to me
The book The Little Prince.
But don’t say ‘prince’; say ‘jar man’
Not ‘fox,’ but ‘squiggle-clod’
You understand?’ the jar thing asked
The jar man gave a nod
He looked around his bookshelf
His eyes began to bleed
He broke the binding, wiped the blood
And then began to read:
“So the jar man tamed
the squiggle-clod. And when the hour of his departure drew near--
“Ah," said the squiggle-clod, "I shall cry."
“It is your own fault," said the jar man. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."
“Yes, that is so," said the squiggle-clod.
“But now you are going to cry!" said the jar man.
“Yes, that is so," said the squiggle-clod.
“Then it has done you no good at all!" said the jar man.
“Ah," said the squiggle-clod, "I shall cry."
“It is your own fault," said the jar man. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . . ."
“Yes, that is so," said the squiggle-clod.
“But now you are going to cry!" said the jar man.
“Yes, that is so," said the squiggle-clod.
“Then it has done you no good at all!" said the jar man.
“It has done me good," said the
squiggle-clod, "because of the color of the wheat fields.”
