Interlude
On a rainy day my newspaper guy double wraps The Times.
I think that people who don’t want babies should double wrap when its ovulation time.
It’s so friggin’ humid that my nice fresh, crispy, crunchy baguette,
spred-eagled,
awaiting its egg white, tomato basil and cheese omelet,
turned into a sponge so boggy that I had to use a steak knife to get through it!
Even songbirds warble, geese echolocate like bats, flies thunk into screens and spray water jets;
music randomly played on the iPod recapitulates the outdoors:
tracks of somber classical including monastic chant and Indian flute piped in canyons.
Primed, soulful jazz riffs, improvises, joins the wells in my eyes
to those in my garden the memory of my heart swollen like my red on the vine tomatoes
the plant branches mimicking collateral circulation or a highway detour.
Each anticipates the inevitable knife.
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