no -- his actions happen to be excusable, a dear friend who
caught himself with his hands around an ex's neck, well i
guess she wasn't an ex at the time, but nonetheless, he
caught himself that way, and no, his actions happen to be
excusable.

oh boy-o all wispy and willowy and dropping weight like one
strips away winter clothing perhaps he ought to be dead. his
pappy done knocked him around like a cat that pissed on the
bed-sheets when he was a young 'un, like a cat caught tearing
up the furniture. angry maybe that his son inherited all of his
regrettable traits.

these days i wonder how he talks to his father. does he? stalks
him maybe, from afar, finding a portfolio of pictures of Chicago
taken back-in-the-day up online. great girders all riveted and
casting shadows, he stares at them and remembers

sitting in his first therapist's office when he was five, playing
I-spy, and saying "I-spy something grey," to which one is obligated
to respond:

in Chicago, "something grey" might as well be the whole city itself.

09/24/2008

Posted on 09/24/2008
Copyright © 2024 Eli Skipp