he went outside after fingeringrunning
them through his hands coloured seaglass
they collected them together from various
California beachesthats not fair
not beaches from grottoes strands
places they usually descended precipitously into mining adventure as they went down into and
climbed up out of
outside he paused he eyed his hawk that sat tight in the top of a
redwood a few yards overthen
distracted by a turkey vulture suddenly appearing cutting directly over his house roof following its streakand at once past it
beyond it high in the sky he saw the contrail of a passing jetlinera black pindot bound north to
who-knows-where San Francisco Oregon
Seattle Canada? and in that sustained momentthat sustained glancethat husky
hoary black bird heavy before the soft distant contrailneither aware of the
other framed in that consuming panel of blue sky out of that abrupt reverie his
hawk shook free of its roostcaromed downward and sliced to its left and south
Ah! the illustrious freedom of flight
and then for no apparent reason
he recalled a man he met several times Bruce
is his name
Bruce walkedif one could call it
walking he struggled on forearm crutches
and wormed his way slowly(tortuously to him) down the street stabbing stabbing
stabbing as he went
Bruce and he were tethered to the
earth
compared to birds they were both
stricken
Bruces legs were crippled years
earlier by an unnamed diseasethey werent that friendly and he wasnt that rude
he admired Bruces perseverancehis
endurancehis grit to get along under his own powerhis own steam and how he abjectly
ignore the baleful expressions staring through windshields of those motorists
whose timing was awful and were put upon to wait for him to clearto get the
hell out of the crosswalkChrist! they
didnt have to say it you could see the pantomime workout in their facestheir sneering
countenances their utter lack of
appreciation that appreciation for their
healththeir entitlement over him
strickenedperhaps undeserved health perhaps not
one afternoon walking alongside
Bruce in the street gutterBruce took up the width of the sidewalk they
talked about the upcoming election
their legs werent their only differences
Bruce was adamant Trump as he
called him was going to win Trump is
Gods choice he said
Gods choice
Yes God will see that Trump serves as our
President
Drumpf as he called himBruces
head turned sharply towards him If God
elects Drumpf hell fuck our democracy
The man has drifted far off of any legitimate moorings that I can see
Bruce snarled Hillarys a crook
And Drumpf isnt
No
No
No Trump is authentic
Yes Authentically a crook a liar a misogynist a
narcissist thinskinned mentored by a man who should have been disbarred and vilified
for his association with McCarthys corruption
Cohn . .
. . I dont know what youre talking about
And that in itself is frightening If youre for a man you ought to know basic
facts about his life Shouldnt you Those experiences that makes up his views his
worldview
Thats not necessary Bruce eyed him like a raptor
Not necessary
Its not necessary I know everything I need to know about Trump Hes been chosen by God
JesusChrist Bruce
We shouldnt talk about politics
No we shouldnt Particularly if God is involved
Im an atheist Bruce The bulwark
of your reasoningif one can assign reason to it is null and voidNonexistent
Bruce didnt respond he struggled
forward on his crutches and abjectly ignored him as if he wasnt there walking
beside him Bruce saw him peripherally through a transparent glass of some
otherworldly bubble he slipped him inside of
his hawk was back
harassed by a single
blackbird that dove and pulled up and could have made sharp Vs in the sky if it
emitted a contrail
he could still feel the cool
seasmoothed glass running through his fingers
1317, Day-between-Two-Ts, 25 1.
17
1321, Thursday, 26 1.
17
1454 to go or less
