Saturday, April 1, 2017


He still comes around here, dead and retired
two years ago, yet he haunts. That dumb
bastard never quits. And now they've
named this dirt path after him too. It's
probably a joke, because it's only used
for parking and no one gives a damn.
And they don't sell antiques out of that
big grey house there on the corner now,
like they did then - forty years ago. I used
to really like that time  - lately, these past
ten years, it's been up for sale at least
three times. No one ever buys it, and
then it's off-market again. Once or twice 
a week I see the lady who lives there;
early mornings, coming out to fetch
her delivered newspaper, which they
just throw at the fence. Conestoga
was the ramblin' kind of guy you'd
see in movies; a trail of broken hearts
and roughed up skin. He's outmoded
now by a quite large margin. They
don't make that stuff anymore, and
neither will they do so, ever again.

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