THIS COUCH PATTERN
HAS A FUNERAL
The Mayor was in the midst of a crowd,
I noticed, combing his getting-sparse
hair. In the middle of 30 people. I couldn't
dare to think what any off that was about
but I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
The Woodbridge Library, after all, does
not do Art often, nor lightly. This was
their night. And it wasn't done that well.
-
Whatever; that's not key. The cop was in
the entryway; right off, oh art police again!
They're so used now to guarding local
schools that this probably meant nothing
to him. The cop, I mean. The Mayor?
He probably ate it up. His stage-front
patter was the usual - inane. I've never
heard the guy talk real for an instant.
-
It's a cover, a shield, the push-me-off
of laughter because 'I'm doing a bum
deal'. He invited the kids to have their
picture taken downstairs with the Mayor
(Kid's Art Room). And 'they could be
'famous!' Because of the picture.
Creepy dodge, in this day and age.
-
I think the cop should have
dragged him out.
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