Thursday, March 24, 2011

3003. I HAVE MADE IT PAST THE POST

I HAVE MADE IT
PAST THE POST

New South Wales, and me. In a tri-corner hat,
plumed with a feather. I stood starboard on a
big, flattering ship, heading west somehow
until we got to 'it'. The remainder of my days.
Where I would go to die and stay.
-
There was never anything past a medical malfeasance
that I wasn't able to handle : that guy with five guns,
that day in Borstal, even the time, at the end of the
Thames, when I ravaged your sister for hours - who
by the way went quite willingly into that dark, dark
night. The only resistance she ever knew was in
the snaps and the stays. So many things are
so forever funny. New South Wales? Now?
-
How far afield am I dreaming? How many miles
does a man's mind travel? 'Simplicity patterns,' I
remember my Mama muttering, were the 'easiest
ones to follow.' She tried to make all my sisters'
dresses, but everything ended up as a pillowcase
instead. Now, the hardtack is on the table and
I'm sitting here alone. I sometimes think of
you but mostly think of, really, nothing at all.

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