augury doggerel

Saturday, July 13, 2002


My father was an ironworker up with the Indians in the air. I can't imagine what he did up there with swinging girders and rivets and welding machines and other props I have seen only on TV, as he has no idea what I do here with a keyboard and a screen and bits of electricity. But we came to the same. I've inherited his body and live in it. I greet him in the morning shower and wonder with him how he ever got to sleep. When it goes wrong in the wrong country, I know that much about him, too. He's figuring out dying now, something I'm not looking for yet, but I'll know how it came out if I catch up with him and the Indians in the air.

And I'm messing about.


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