augury doggerel

Saturday, January 12, 2002

Crotchless, Sheep, Buzzard

Messing about our cell in the hive, boots off, socks floppy, pants unbuttoned and bagging down, feeding the cat, making tea, dodging a browning evergreen, making tea again, feeding the cat again, feeding the kid a line, chasing the cat, chasing the kid, chastening the cat about the kid about the cat; somewhere in there, I squatted to pick up something or someone -- I think it was the kid, who was balking at bathing -- and split the crotch in my old work pants.

These things have been repaired before and probably should be binned, but I have just three pair; binning one would force me to shop. To loathe all creation.

And so I sheepishly -- woolly, vacant, chubby -- asked Bo Peep if she might lend her skilled fingers to the task. I think she will, but I feel a little rotten for asking. She could leave me hanging in the wind. Maybe I could learn to sew?


On the bus: "Julius Caesar"

And a beautiful buzzard has just flown over.


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