ALL TWENTY FEET
It is so peaceful here now.
The old man, with the antique
shop, he's gone now. He died
maybe ten years back. Archie.
At least ten, now that I think.
How time goes by, it makes
everything an antique in a
minute. There used to be
five huts, or more, here,
filled with matter : the old
ballistics of distant times and
older days. Things no one cares
for now, or even understands or
knows. If I were to try and tell
some rat kid today what a porcelian
electrical insulator, for pole use,
was, what would they know or
care? A shrug? No, they don't
even do that anymore. It's
twenty feet, there, with the
phone, at the door.
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