on the eve of destruction

                   which Drumpf piously relishes stoking(nowSTOP!  his candidacy will be tossed atop the garbage heap pitched in the dustbin stuffed down the crapper out back  of History  where it has belonged since he descended the escalator to the applause and chants of supporters earning fifty dollar)

on the eve of this Election Day he heeled to a mere incident

if he didnt write it down he would forget and forgetting wasnt an option

a dead mauve-coloured leaf fluttered down to the street before him as he walked to the bank to make a deposit

it reminded him of when he was a boy  summertime  taking dollar bills he carried folded in his pocket on Monday mornings to deposit in his savings account

he was like clockwork the clerk said

he made his deposits because money burned a hole in his pocket

he knew that about himself

depositing it it couldnt

he went the long way around to the bank  

thereby avoiding the bookstore

afterwards with his passbook quiet in his back pocket hed stop and look around at the books he could afford if had money at the ready  paperbacks  thirtyfive cents

he had several unread books at home

before he added to them before hed spring for new ones for Heinleins Bradburys for Dicks Tenns Kuttners Guns and Sturgeons hed read what he had

a kind of bait and switch was the way he thought of it  a keen diversion(HA  if he knew the word then he might have called it a perversion)

he liked that his savings account broke three figures

nine years old

he felt rich

he felt like he was ahead of the game or at least ahead of other nine years olds

two or three bucks a lawn

in the fall raking leaves

winter shoveling snow

money grew out of the ground fell from trees and out of the sky

how could he not oblige it

the leaf twisted a moment on the pavement then stuttered herky jerky stumbled on a soft breeze

incidental

he was its only witness                                                                        

but often when he stood witness people walked past him wondering what he was doing their eyes or turns-of-their-head speaking for them  they walked on right past  missing out  their choice  if they ever chose to see

so what if an exhausted leaf fell

so what if a woman didnt close her blinds and stood naked at a window watching whatever it was she was watching caught up in her own moment

so what if she watched him watching her

again

so what?

You got to be fuckin kiddin Life is made up of minutiae

incidentals

somehow they stuffed themselves into his brain stuffed his memory stuffed what he didnt know hed need in his head like straw necessary to shape a scarecrows head

incidentals meant he was alive

a woman he met later suffered blackouts

she said We dont make memories when were blacked out

Are you so sure he asked Are you so sure because you say you cant remember them that they dont inform you at a deeper level more base than you can possibly be aware of and they inculcate themselves to your advantage your gut feelings your Man this doesnt feel right to me or they spawn those tenuous electric moments of déjà vu  that strange itch you can never seem to scratch

Our memory banks are treasure troves

Sacred information

They inform us despite ourselves

today he felt as if he was on the other side of the eve of destruction looking back over his shoulder

for this he didnt have to sit with his back to a wall watch for what came through the front door

hed been there

Drumpf was an ugly interruption

he briefly recognised him in the 70s recognised him as a selfserving turd

this election its malicious manufacture and malfeasance confirmed it

ultimately it was nice a reassuring congenial pat on the back

he could flush the turd and then someday read his obit

1204,  Monday  --  Election Eve,  7  11. 16

Barry McGuire  Eve of Destruction  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ykPzNCKN6Po