UNCLE MISHMASH AND
MARJORIE GLENN
The housewives were hanging their clothes
on the line; slight breezes blowing along.
It was another brisk morning at Gaverner
Falls; lots of quiet with not much to do.
-
Uncle Mishmash (my name for him), threw
done the newspaper just to exclaim: "I can't
read this rubbish no more! Don't even know
what they're talking about? And what the
hell do I care about the British Pound?"
-
No one made a sound. Uncle had tendencies
like this - to blow out and rant about new
things he'd found. I looked away, content to
be comfortable and content; watching the
trees and the laundry.
-
If I couldn't talk, I wasn't so sure I'd even
wish to learn to. Talk, that is. Just a whole
pile of words. Bobbie ran in, saying a whole
sentence about something at the lake. I wasn't
much listening, but Margie ran out with him.
-
Half hour later, 'bout, I heard the whistle call.
An overturned canoe by the falls had been
rescued, and there was a gad-durned body
beneath it! And roped in too! "Why that
sounds like a crime, to me!", said Uncle,
"let's go see!"
-
He put down his stuff and went out and I
followed. Nothing much else to do. The
ladies looked up, but I couldn't tell what
they knew - had they been alerted to
this new situation too?
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