Tuesday, May 12, 2009

367. YOU'RE A WIT THE WAY I KNEW IT TO BE

YOU'RE A WIT THE WAY
I KNEW IT TO BE
The car was zooming by, almost as if on
wings. Wings of grade A dental floss,
marshmallow swaggers, indentured lungs.
The songbird perched above your head, I
was noticing, tried like Hell to keep up, but
mostly failed - leaving nothing but a feathered
trail instead of a tail. You seemed to be smoking a
cigarette from the wrong end, but it could merely
have been Relativity interacting with your spacious
speed that tricked me up. Windows went up,
windows went down. 'Don't the fuzzy bastards
know anything?' the last cop said - he was the
one wearing blue and standing tallest. I wasn't sure
what he meant but I nodded assent. 'Yes, yes,' I
replied, 'you can say that again.' Which he then did.
All in all, this racket bored me to tears; so I folded
my cot, parked it against the wall, and went away.

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