Sunday, September 11, 2005


Now, I’m drinking beer on the ferry next to the condiments redolent of onions, am I redolent of onions? I smell the onions, and a little girl is dragged away by her father. Sad. Crowded boat, had to run to get it. Sweaty, but at least I’m not redolent of onions like that condiment bar.

Both hands on her chin
Both elbows on her knees
She sat on the curb
And stared straight ahead
Eyes red from crying
Tears dried
Face still puffy
Pain subsiding
To be buried
Yet unlike her cat
That pain will come back.

Balderdash and chickenscratch just a snatch of beauty, pathos you say then walk away, pithy but devoid of duty. How hard could it be to pass right by me and pass judgment like passing gas. A successful career, your graduation year, freedom from fear, a life spent clearing all hurdles. These lines do confine, the track does exact, a claustrophobia, a constriction, a passage I just could not tread. Scoff at my dread and answer my question with ease…my indigestion…home…

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