MATEY'S GOT HANDS
Tuesday morning, out at the sound, the
back-scratcher motor was humming. A
12-foot wave was washing through, some
surfer dudes chasing water. What do they
call this, a barrier-reef? When there's a storm
out at sea, well then you should see them
strum. Banjo, guitars, and ukeleles.
We didn't launch anything and decided to
stay right there, on land, or what passes for
it here. There's an old Methodist community
just a few miles up, we went there. Meeting
tents, little places to eat and sit, a large-sized
schedule of events on a common-community-
board. Nothing I cared about, but if I'd seen
the name John Denver on it for that night, I'd
not have been surprised. Why is it those sorts
get so soft? God, the Lord, and superstition.
Too many people drive blue cars, I've noticed.
The worst drivers, blue cars. Even here, the
retirees and ministers on parole, whatever,
they drive these little bean-sized cars and
they're quite often blue. The cars, I mean,
but maybe the ministers too. Blue. too.
I suppose it's nice to be concerned for the
Earth, or to claim you are anyway, but I
have other things on my mind, and they
really do concern me more. Am I wrong
on that count? Tell. Me. Why? (But
hey, don't cross the yellow line).