The window is opened an inch just to let the room breathe
a little as the rusting setting sun is just perching on the trees across the
way and peeking into my window, hitting the Oleanders full on. The perfume hits
my nose and pinches my sadness, ‘hey kid, this is why you walk and talk, get
over yourself’. A seabird screeches for a partner somewhere in the outer banks,
and just then I can smell the sea, a little sour as it worms its way by stealth
into the room.
Upstairs, Mrs Hack plays her husband’s jazz records and
for a few minutes she can forget that he went to ‘Nam in ’65 and never came
home. Oh, the sweetness of the dulling of the senses.
Across the street, as the dusk drops down bringing with it all
those things which it’s known for, some kids leave the ice cream parlor
screaming and hollering and remembering their almost perfect day at Disneyland,
‘if only Josey hadn’t thrown up over me’ shouts the nervous one whose eyes gave
up the ghost a while back.
And so I sit and pour a drink as the sun packs up and
finally leaves the room and a steel chill hits my stomach and I wonder why in all those
years, I never got to go to Disneyland.
bobby stevenson 2013
thoughtcontrol ltd
bobby stevenson 2013
thoughtcontrol ltd
No comments:
Post a Comment