6261. MARVELOUS, POLITE, WINNING WAYS

MARVELOUS, POLITE, 

AND WINNING WAYS

Ice was running off the railings, and a pale, weak

sun was running around : a monument here, to

WWI Soldiers, and there, to some old General

Swank or someone. Two old government Chevies

limped by, on their way to something. I'd have to

guess the name of this was 'Memorial Field'.

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You know how that is  -  all that stuff about regrets

and returns and valor and 'never-again.' The kind of

things adults do when they're just not very sure of

just what they should do : bury the dead with markings,

or just forget all about them. 'Sorry' is always off-key.

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It's like the first time you have to dress up or something:

all of a sudden, for school or church or whatever, they

change the rules and start telling you 'this' or 'that'

to do, and all the stuff that has to be done to make

it right and proper. I always wanted to bash them

back for that  -  when they did it to me.

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There's always  -  after that  -  someone adult at

the head of the line or the top of the stairs, with a

bell or a clicker, going on about something to no

one in particular's ears. Just rote stuff, the manners

and the learning this person's got to use to get his pay.

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 And then : you do nothing in particular, nothing at

all about it, or because of it, and  -  no matter  -  

they come around anyway, patting you on the 

head or back to start on about your
'marvelous, polite, and winning ways.'