GAP-TOOTHED
MOUSEKETEER
Down the Cumberland Valley, or up at the
Donner Pass, someone was having a party;
I was hoping it would last. On my way to
bereavement now, setting my shoes on fire.
I've nothing new to say this day. Let me expire.
-
Two dumpside trucks are emptying out on the
back of 19th street. Some Mennonite ladies are
passing by - light blue, little hats, and apron strings
to follow. Cute as stuff, anywhere. They talk, yet
they watch the breadstuffs unload - seasoned,
imported, holiday loaves and brand-new breadsticks.
Things like that I can never get the hang of. The guy
says 'Charley, this shit all off yet?' Charley grunts
and points - as if to say 'the ladies, jerk, the ladies.'
-
Who minds anything today? Not me. I go on whistling,
my bicycle wheels threaded with grief where it once
was grease. I just leave it all behind, and never look
back. My mind wanders. I think of all those sayings
I've heard; the zen stuff, and not: 'Change always
happens, except at vending machines.'
-
'Do you know 'if' is the middle word in 'life?'
'Some day you will be old enough to begin
reading fairy tales again.' Stopping myself cutie,
I look you over. What even am I doing here,
and why?
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