MARCH, OR: THE ELDERLY MAN'S SLOUGH

The dapper old gent draws you near. "It is March now, did you know that?" he asks you. What wisdom! you think, your eyes growing wide. What effervescent grace!

"Let me tell you all of the facts about March that I have learned over my very long life," he says. What generosity! What an honor!

"There are three Marches a year, and at the end of them the March Finch approaches each of us in turn, and asks which we'd like to remember. This year, I chose my third. You chose your second."

How insightful! You feel a vibration of hallelujahs rise up in your throat but the old man reaches inside your mouth and pushes them back down, as he has not yet finished speaking. "March is when all rats and mice and rabbits shed their skins and vertebrae to become simple earthworms again. This process is repeated once a year, and is called The Slough of the Idiots." What a simple, beautiful insight into the harmony of the natural world!

"Tho' August it ha' 31, and May but 22, March the Dripping Whore has none at all," he recites, repeating the well-known nursery rhyme. You know this March fact already and tell him so, slightly annoyed.

He smiles knowingly, then kisses you on your lips, and dies.

You look in the bedroom mirror and realize: you are the dapper old gent now, for you know of March, all things. You slowly remove the dead man's clothes and put them on yourself. His body has already started the natural process of March decay, and has begun Man's own version of The Slough of the Idiots. You weep, a little, for the elderly have little control over their tears.