rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Too Late too Early

The stars now fade too soon, and the silhouettes of trees grow distinct as the sky pales while my thoughts are yet delving night. Pleasant May draws near its end, and sultry June looms with its heat and early dawns. It would be nice to hibernate for the next few months, to wake when chilly autumn wind strips the trees and rolls the storm clouds in.

I moved the pile of stuff about last night and got access to some shelves I hadn't inspected for years. I had hoped to find some things there which I have long missed, but they are still missing. I know now that they must have been stored in boxes in the garage, and since I have inspected most of those it seems likely that they went missing long ago, when one of my nephews repeatedly moved many boxes of his in and out of the garage during his period of house hopping. Since he abandoned many things in various places, it seems likely that those things I would most like to find are gone forever. This is quite distressing, as those items were among the few that I would have most liked to keep. Well, it isn't the first time my relatives have caused problems for me, and I'm sure it won't be the last. My advise to anyone starting out in life is to become both an only child and an orphan at the earliest opportunity.

As a consolation, I did manage to find a few books for which I've been looking, including some poetry by Mark Strand and by Gilbert Sorentino. And just in time for the weekly ritual!

Sunday Verse


by Mark Strand

He sneaks in the backdoor,
tiptoes through the kitchen,
the living room, the hall,
climbs the stairs and enters
the bedroom. He leans
over my bed and says he has come
to kill me. The job
will be done in stages.

First, my toenails
will be clipped, then my toes
and so on until
nothing is left of me.
He takes a small instrument
from his keychain and begins.
I hear Swan Lake being played
on a neighbor's hifi and start to hum.

How much time passes,
I cannot tell. But when I come to
I hear him say he has reached my neck
and will not be able to continue
because he is tired. I tell him
that he has done enough,
that he should go home and rest.
He thanks me and leaves.

I am always amazed at
how easily satisfied
some people are.

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