MISTER YOU AIN'T
The burnt-out house in Plainfield has
a scattershot ring to revival. Mexicali
Rose and her gang have left, needing
now somewhere new to play. The whites
of the old shingles are now blackened
with soot, and window-shades hang
on the windows. Springtime tires to
bring a burst of fresh air. But even
that fails here.
-
Time there was when time there was -
plenty of it all, to hang around and
time to dawdle. No longer. Now the
missing chapters need filling in,
and even the ending has to be
composed. Again. There are so
many. Or have been. Plenty.
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