I want to play tag It’s just running I can run Everybody runs the same Tag is stupid, they say We should play ball, they say Let’s pick teams, they say I line up and wait Until the line is gone Hoping
Prayer might work. A poultice perhaps. Crushed flax seeds have helped some but I forget their names. A trip to the Grand Canyon to see the abyss in daylight is said to be good preparation. It’s up to you at this point. __________________ Written… Continue Reading “Options”
Be very quiet, kiddo. Don’t make a sound. Look right here, under this bush. One of them is playing a wee fiddle and the rest are dancing. See their little shoes? They’re gold, kiddo. Pure gold. Aren’t we lucky to see them?
We ride trucks. We spit on the ground. We wear old black Levis. We drink coffee black. We break our own hearts. We smoke what there is. We don’t want any mail. We go where we are. We live when we want.
Aren’t you cold? No. I don’t get cold. I’m not going to let you in. You’re too mad. Fine. Come out here on the porch. Then everyone can watch. You have no clothes on. I realize that. It seems to unsettle you.
He didn’t look up at the window but he knew I was there. Instead, he tugged at the ski mask where it had inched up his neck and kept his attention on sorting the toys left at the curb into two piles.
That it was dark didn’t worry him much, more that the board-up man might have nailed the last window shut, the one he’d been using as the door to his little place, home would be airtight now, no more coming or going.
The road to the shadows is paved and runs downhill. It would be easy to go there, join the others resting by the fire, harder to turn around and head up more steep hill to become tired and hot from the sun.