THE WILD RUGGED WEST
Everything I may have ever owned was
stolen. Maybe. There were fractures at
the wall and in the corner. The grey cat
we called King - a shadow of a former
self - kept crouched to the arm of a
favorite chair. My life was a still-life
when I needed a friend.
-
Eventually everything was cleared away,
in an over-running tide from one of those
storms or hurricane things they go on
about. Boy, I hate the natural world and
all its supposed splendor. I mean, shelter.
Things hold up - for a while - wear
down, and get blown away. Wind. Tide.
-
One part I remember was how all the
plumbing fixtures, the entire set-up,
from my friend's 5th street barbershop,
at the corner, with Langford Ave., was
washed away, across the street and to
higher band of sand. Which is where
it still was, the last I saw.
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