11,518. WELL, WELL, WELL

WELL, WELL, WELL

The shaft elongates over the light

where the monument to Sullivan

stands. Anyway, how thrilling can

the top of a big hill be : we look

out for Route 17, to see.

-

I get tired of all these places for

the dead. War-dead, mistaken aims,

poisons, and disease. Your Uncle

Waldo was killed in the war, though

mine died shortly thereafter. What

difference is there to any of that?

-

I had a cat once, I left in the vestibule

of some Avenue B walk-up. Two girls

whom I knew, living there together, had

promised to take it for me, and give it

care and make it a home. What a fool

was I. That cat was my very own.

-

I betrayed something I loved. Shit.

I gave away a life I'd cherished, even

if only a cat. Shit again. But I had no

other choice; I had to run. That was

for certain. I gave it away.

-

Oh well. What I had I had, what I lost,

I lost. One can't get stuck in the mire.

Things go like that, Don't rue the

ashes, I guess, remember the fire.