It was a theory voiced by an aging doubtful Catholic in a sunlit Waffle House on the outskirts of Fairhope, Alabama: ‘See, when a man and a woman make love, they make love. They’re literally creating love in the world that wasn’t there moments before.’ He returned to his order of hashbrowns, sopped up the dregs of eggs, and caught
the waitress’ eye for a coffee top-off.
Then his gray whiskers grew wide again,
imputing a kind of forgotten courage:
‘By god, most days this world is shy
on love. Do your part to help, hear?’