Wednesday, August 31, 2016


So the mad judge said, coming down
on me. 'At least it's not destitution,'
I said. 'At least not yet.' He wrote
something down. 'At least it's not 
desertion, or nutrition.' Everyone
agreed, but the were still writing
things down. I went home with a
scar on my Adam's Apple. Guilty
of incision? Hey! Maybe that was 
it. No one ever got back to me.
On Marmicoe Street, Landow's
Tree Service was cutting down
trees. A real dis-service, I thought.
But who would know in this day
and age. Their big white truck
has jumped the curb.
Over by the Quick-Chek, the guy
who was eating a sandwich stood
up. Stood up quickly, like it was
an emergency. I couldn't see
anything, but then I saw he had
his phone  -  that was some way 
he used, oddly, of emphasizing
what he'd said. The person on
the other end, of course, couldn't
see, but I did. I guessed the listener
was supposed to get the idea that
he'd really meant business on that 
one. But how would he know 
he'd just stood up? 
A lot of this modern life befuddles 
me; and I don't even do a lot of 
things  -  just mostly hang around, 
thinking, watching all this mischief
take place. Reading Shakespeare in
the car, at lights. I think that's all
been outlawed now. Distracted
Driving, is the phrase they use.
Like Distracted Living has never
been enough. 
So, the crazy judge, he just sat back
down; expects me to care? I call it 
an institution. The infraction of 
traction in a modern day of life.
You heard that? I'm standing up.
While. He's. Sitting. Down.

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