Monday, April 6, 2009

317. ON RUINATION DAY

ON RUINATION DAY
I saw the crazy man again dancing his quick-step
along the same silly street. He seemed heading sideways
while pulling his cart. His arms are always out for
something; wishing a broom, looking for dimes,
seeking alms from the passing minions.
I want to say 'cohorts'? I wish to say 'suckers'?
No, neither - though I'll never really know what goes on.
I noticed him again, even though I'd tried pretending
not to see : he was in the midst of traffic, now haranguing
the cars and the drivers. 'You'll not get much if you curse
them out - and to their faces, no less.' Well, that's what I
wanted to say. But who am I to give advice - to the lonely,
to the broken, to the stalwarts of sadness and mystic gloom?
Not my place at all. At some sad level, I come from the
same beginnings, I come from the same raw source.
-
They should have a holiday for the losers.
Called 'Ruination Day', of course.

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