A short talk overheard in the dark…
Unseen person from the left: “Are you still there?”
Unseen person from the right: “Yes.”
Unseen person from the left: “But I can’t see you.”
Unseen person from the right: “I’m still here.”
Unseen person from the left: “Did you go away for a little while?”
Unseen person from the right: “No. I’ve been here the whole time.”
By this time tomorrow,
I’ll be in Albuquerque.
Or maybe Springfield.
Or maybe I’ll stay right here and watch the birds fly to and fro.
The all-seeing eye saw you break the speed limit on the way to your grandmother’s house. But it does not judge.
I’m in my grandparents’ house, but I’m not a kid — I’m the middle-aged adult I am now. Friends are with me, and I’m showing them around the house. The kitchen with lots of cabinets, the jutting-out peninsula of a dining room with windows on three sides, the two-story living room with fireplace. Tourists are lounging about the yard. Why? It’s a lovely house, but it’s not as if celebrities lived here. Graceland Mansion, it’s definitely not. Yet tourists open the door, and a group of them streams inside, gazing around and clicking photos with their phones. Baffled, I tell them to leave, tell them that this is a private house. Their stares at me seem confused, and the man in front holds up a piece of paper, and he waves it as he says, “But we already bought tickets.”
If I let my freak flag fly, will other freak nations declare war on me?
A sign changes messages: watch this space, to watch your step, to you better watch yourself.