Or, get me out of the way. Wipe the lousy slate
clean, shuttle that bus until the banana-boat goes
home. My Victrola needle is stuck in a deadly groove,
won't play, won't move. Red wine to the rescue, hey!
Out in the woods today, 'midst mosquitoes and turtles
and frogs, I met that guy again from Stockton, the one
who paints al fresco in the forest. It actually seems he's
rather boring, based at least on his repeat behavior.
It's not the sort of thing I token to.
So I went to the little cafe at the side of the river, and
ordered myself a nice cheese sandwich - the little girl
who brought it to me was lovely, and her name was
Esmeril. I'd never heard that name before either. She
brought me lettuce, and a spare cole slaw.
Everything conspired - right there, this day - to somehow
be calling my name. Some dowager with money strolled by,
said something nice to me, and stayed awhile - claiming to
be 'out strolling for the luxury of buying things I want.'
Well, hello then, how-di-do. Ten minutes later, she
was gone and my impression was too.
If a riverboat came by while I was sitting there, yes, I
would have jumped aboard. As it is, no, no one uses the
river anymore - except scalawags fishing and dumping
their catch - which more than likely happens to be
shoes and lumber and kitchen waste. Over there,
sitting on a large rock, two lovers contesting
each other. Ah, to be that young again!