Today It’s Supposed to Rain by Peter A. Witt
 |
| Image | Erik Karits |
Today it's supposed to rain, but my plans are as empty as an abandoned carnival.
A swallow-tail butterfly flits in our garden, I do not have my camera with me so I'll have to capture image with my eye, will have hot dogs with mustard for lunch.
Garden needs watering, maybe the rain will cure its thirst, dog hides under the bed when it thunders, like a child seeking refuge from monsters.
Yesterday was hot and sunny, the sky was dotted with clouds as fluffy as spun sugar. Which reminds me of circuses and clowns, but the only clowns I know are on TV talking about the how to take down the government.
TV is off most of the time, too many talking heads spouting venomous hate and misinformation. I talk back to them but would rather be listening to the mockingbird who steals songs from other birds and the sound of traffic on our street.
Our house is on a busy boulevard, with the sound of trucks crashing through our living room windows like a stampede of wild horses. In my youth I wanted to be a truck driver but went to college instead to become a tax attorney. Now others do my taxes, and I am a window installer.
Today for lunch we had hot dogs and beans, no mustard, just ketchup. I never wear red clothing, too harsh a color, but like blues and grays, which some people spell with and e, grey.
Afternoon naps, puppy dog kisses, and tangerines. Random thoughts on a Monday morning, especially the tangerines, since my fingers have a hard time peeling them, but petting puppies is easy, especially if they give kisses on the nose as a reward. Puppies are also interested in afternoon naps and chasing the cat who hisses and smacks my puppy on the nose.
Today started with a walk along the trail that runs behind our backyard. Saw a black vulture tearing apart a dead squirrel, I chased him away and buried the squirrel. My best friend had a funeral last week, sorrow filled the room. some people cried. Wonder if anybody but me mourns the squirrel.
Life is short and so am I. Can't dunk a basketball but can dunk shrimp in green-goddess dressing with the precision of a seasoned chef. My wife is a goddess, radiant like the morning sun, but I would never dunk her, and she hates wearing green clothes, despises them like an unwelcome guest.
After lunch I'm getting a haircut, I can make an appointment online. Yesterday a neighbor said he wanted to talk to me, I didn't ask him to make an online appointment. We drank coffee, watched the butterfly flitting in my garden. Neighbor said he was getting a divorce, seemed sad. Perhaps he'll come with me to get a haircut, a fresh start like turning the page in an unread book.
It's finally started to rain, buckets and buckets of rain. I filled a few to water my indoor plants, they wanted to go outside, but I was afraid they'd drown or be hit by one of the buckets.
Next week we are leaving for Iceland, maybe we'll see Penguins, which is silly since they only hang out in the southern hemisphere and zoos. Maybe I'll cancel my trip and go to the zoo, eat hot dogs, this time with mustard, and ponder whether penguins ever dreamed of being tax attorneys or window installers.
© Peter A. Witt
 |
| Peter A. Witt |
Peter A. Witt is a Texas poet and a recovering academic, who lost his adjectives in the doldrums of academic writing. Poetry has helped him recover his ability to see and describe the inner and outer world he inhabits. His work has been twice nominated for Best of the Net. He also writes family history, and is an avid birder and wildlife photographer. |
Comments
Post a Comment
Please be supportive and kind in your comments.