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
