WHITE SOCKS
I read the story about the man who came
to stay and then just as abruptly left : fires
still burning in the hearth, some thin soup on
the stove. Not that they cared, but, people
talked. It does seem sometimes that a good
identification is needed. Fingerprints, or hat
size at least. (All those years I spent with the
FBI have taught me something. Never wear
white (socks) after Memorial Day).
-
That's an injudicious undertaking you're doing
by cutting that grass - I'd love to just let things
grow and hide among the high-grown weeds.
It's only the definers (those FBI's) who catalogue
and do the naming to be sure - weeds, nuisance,
threat and danger. Oh such balderdash. Let them
then have what they'd have anyway.
-
The very first mirrors were polished metal, or
water, I'm sure, before that. Let me keep looking.
I love the waver of this strange reflection
No comments:
Post a Comment