5247. FAKE HOUSE

FAKE HOUSE

You know them, they live by the lake; where the

anglers come by on nice weekends and fish from the

backs of their cars and vans. Small campfires dot the

sand, music blares, some kids dance at night and who

knows what else. Nothing here goes on once, it all

happens again and again. Everyone enjoys a

personal spectacle.

-

The mighty Jane and the mighty Jack are lifting weights

on the edge of the corner, if you know what I mean  -  

their shadows are thrown by a Coleman onto the canvas

of their feeble tent. Lift, drop, up, down, over and over,

counting the reps. How, I wonder, is fishing at night

any different; and if so who knows the difference;

wide-eyed fish, staring baleful and shocked on the

grass, or the hunters, with their nighttime hooks?

-

I tend to remain as aloof as I can from the real  :

nothing I'd wish to enter, seeking  -  as I am  -  

only other things. Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, 

let's call them; very difficult are they

to get on a physical hook.