there were small clouds

                 smudges in a bright sky

trees bobbed in the windwent side to sideback an forth agile boxers feigning jabbing in an out keeping away from the big hand the bomb brought up from the mat

usually the afternoon was filled with bird calls

it was notorious to-day 

                  because it wasnt

when animals gave him a wide berthbirds refused to sing  he wondered   it was the third time in a few days that he was enslaved by stringent white light

which was astonishing

                  seeing that he was drawn to black

for his birthday his daughters independent of each other bought him black tshirts predominately black

two were etched  one with Johnny Cash at Folsom flipping off the photographer  the second a stylised buffalo made up of vertical feathers side by side  water is life printed in turquoise complimenting the colours in the feathers

when he casually asked them why they chose black tshirts they replied Jeez Dad  You look good in black

little did they know that they were dressing him as he dressed himself in high school  a tight black tshirt and blue jeans

that was his uniform  his statement

he ably stood out from among the greasers the longhairs the lettermen and cheerleaders 

a freak in his own right

 

                                finally the wind was cut by the distant cry of a hawk

curiously the sport teams he made in high school were called Hawks

he was a Hawk

he wanted to play three sports

he did

until two of the coaching staffs blacklisted him for challenging their authority 

they didnt say Fuck you kid though you could see it hanging in their mouths

they fucked him by cutting him in the first round of tryouts

he was cut before a retard would be

his friends had no pity

                   Who are you to question the coaches

Coaches?  Theyre not coaches Theyre padding their teachers salaries

No matter  They decide

deciders

        which Bushwhacker later owned

he certainly showed what kind of decider he was

                                        miserable

though no less miserable that those teachers-playing-coach

then the distant hawk quieted

leaving him the white sunlight

the bobbing trees                       

the traffic on the 101 that he preferred to imagine as a frothy surf washing up on the beaches and rocks of the Left Coast

1341,  Thursday,  11  5. 17

1346 days remaining or less Russian buhbye