w i n t e r
GSO 120K25 6 BKN
out on the lawn
one low chair and a beer
one black dog
a purple frisbee
one shoe
one paperback
a pair of eyeglasses
out on the lawn...
"Why is it every year only half of the Christmas lights work?"
"They all worked last year and then I put them away in the box and now, they don't work."
I play with the corner of the cardboard box holding the lights I haven't yet gone through. Tearing off a corner I put it in my mouth and start to chew. Isn't that a problem, eating paper? I should really just smoke, but no, I promised, at least for tonight.
"Your place is a wreck."
I look around. I can't help but agree, but I don't say anything.
"I mean how much mail is that? 3 weeks worth? Unopened?"
"Nobody sends anything anyway, the bills are automatic so all that," I wave at the pile spilling off the desk, "is junk."
"Oh. Then these letters from the doctor must be junk? And this Flight Journal, junk? How about that news letter you're supposed to be keeping up-to-date, here's the new one. Well, not really it's a couple weeks old now. You're right, junk."
Somewhere buried in there is some substance, something I can use, something I need. Somewhere in this unseasonalbly warm weather there is a moment I haven't grabbed. But I have to admit warm weather or not it's wearing me down. Tonight I came home and went to bed at 5:10pm. Of course I got up at 10:00pm after sleeping more than I usually do in a night and now I'm stuck. On the verge and I'm going through my mail.
There's something peaceful about sorting through a lot of mail, all piled up and spilling on the floor. Things that are in the past, trash. Catalogs, trash. Bank statements, quick look, trash.
Passing judgement quickly. Trash, trash, trash...keep that one. Pause and read. Continue.
Trash.
Then there was you.
Same yellow. Same size. No flower this time, but the same unmistakable scrawl on the front and back. This time not everything faired so well. Somewhere between there and here was a little water. Pages stuck together, bent, battered. Opened and retaped. Does the Post have no respect?
"Going through all this on my desk I've discovered one thing"
"What's that?"
"I can't doodle. I simply draw lines..."
goodnight 12.02.98