Relations\r\nby Lawrence Dugan\r\nFamilies arriving at the zoo\r\nKnow by some instinct what to do:\r\nParents lead till daughter lingers\r\nWatching monkey count his fingers,\r\nFinding four, or six, or dozens\r\nIf the count includes his cousins . . .\r\nAnd then those people start to stare\r\nAs if the monkey's heart were bare!\r\nAcross the crease of solemn face\r\nThe ancient wisdom of our race\r\nSeems so suddenly upon them\r\nThey could swear they really know him ,\r\nWhen his hairy brow is furrowed\r\nUncle Lenny might have burrowed\r\nTo some sagacious by-gone age\r\nWhen men like him were in a cage;\r\nShould some gorilla take a drink\r\nIt's enough to make them think\r\nHe contemplates Dad's latest plan\r\nTo phone the beer-deliven,' man.\r\nThe fellow staggers to his feet,\r\nIt's Mr. Stumbles up the street. . .\r\nWho spoils all their speculation\r\nLooking thoughtful — no relation.\r\nDICTATIONS\r\nGod Bless America\r\nEvery president since Ronald Reagan has employed\r\nthis invocation to punctuate the conclusion of a major\r\nspeech. Coming from Reagan, it was sort of a tip\r\nof the hat to the official pieties of the World War II generation.\r\nIn the mouth of Bill Clinton it was a blasphemy. Now,\r\nthe phrase is on the lips of people who, as the joke used to go,\r\nthink "Damn" is God's last name.\r\nSuch prayers—"God grant, or bless, or give"—represent a\r\nfossilized survival of the subjunctive. Presumably, we are\r\nasking the Creator to give his blessing...

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