augury doggerel

Sunday, June 16, 2002


In the morning, the kid and the woman and I drank tea in the only sunny corner in the place. They had pancakes and jam and sweet tea. I had eaten toast long before they crawled out of bed, so I attended the table and pawed the cat on the sill.

Afterward, we had a walk to turkey town, listened to crowing roosters down the road, then found real fowl, dirty birds, and the old blinking woman showing the kid a fistful of peepers, four in her left clutch, while she kept the nervous mother stuffed under her right arm.

But between breakfast and birds, I�d almost forgotten, the kid played the piano for me, first the formal etudes she learned from her grandmother, then something she called Seventh Heaven, a slow piece she had written. Better than anything, this bare monkey wondering out her own music in the morning.

And more gibberish.


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