Dear Bay,
Someone said something about
not understanding each other,
& the sound of a slammed door
made me look up from the potted
green of my cat grass. Meanwhile,
a black jackhammer yammered
away at a patch of grey, obliging
sidewalk until the pavement
retorted with spurt after squirt
of drinkable water. The TV blared
from within my study, & I heard
Wolf Blitzer stomp out of the
Situation Room leaving both you
& his trademark beard behind.
For the record, Wolf is currently
outside my window. He is cleaning
his face, & pouncing on a yard full
of June bugs. He looks quite
contented. Meanwhile, the
abandoned beard refuses to
discuss immigration reform with
you, but instead, stubbornly insists
on knowing who designed your
fisher girl costume. You proclaim
that the beard looks bedraggled
& kind of French. Meanwhile,
Wolf creeps back into the green
room, & silently leaves a broken
skylark in your makeup bag.
For the record, Wolf did not break
this skylark, he merely thought
you might like to dance the
tarantella around it, until you
came back to your senses.
Sincerely,
Ryan
No comments:
Post a Comment