The Lamp of Mutual Aid

Many nights while walking home 

after work, from downtown to 

an apartment below a market, 

I’d think of Alfred Espinas:

“We do not get together to die,

but to live and to improve life.”

Sudden changes of weather and

contagious diseases nearly broke

the spirits of many friends that

winter, but charmingly we made 

habits of dancing and sharing

meals in our cramped rooms.

Our landlords were thieves and

our bosses were pessimists, yet

we dreamed of a new phase of

civilization, one of kindness and

goodwill. “We need communes,”

Oscar exclaimed. Silvia argued,

“But islands are corpses, let’s think

instead of syndicates.” Mondays 

we’d return to dirty dishes, copy

machines, and dull knives, and 

we spent the next three centuries

doing what we were paid to do.