THE IMPETUS OF DOGGEREL
Doesn't anybody understand me? All I
want is a twenty-foot section of cyclone
fencing to call my own and wrap around
me. That's not so much to ask. I then could
babble on my own and forever be left alone.
Kept alone. Fenced in like a marsh-rat by
own imperious deeds. I could read with
flashlights late at night. I could eat with
cookie crumbs everywhere, and slather
butter on every slice of bread found.
It's all pretty simple. I'll fix your flat tires
if you fix my fencing. Nothing more need
be said. I can look at your petty wife's picture
on my mirror, and, in exchange, I'll offer you
every screwdriver I ever have touched. For
a few dollars more, I'll give you a drink.
Some fine, southern bourbon, if that's
what you like. Otherwise, I've got
Siberian water that I drink quite a lot.
But, if there's nothing else, I'll
take what you've got.