augury doggerel

Friday, October 18, 2002


Oh, hell. I get home and find boxes on the living room floor. The woman has shopped. I will spend a brick of a weekend mating part to pre-drilled part with bags of bits. You say eye-key-ah, we say ee-keh-ah, but the spell is the same. It's the same pile of bare soft wood, the same promise of dismay at unhinged doors and misslung drawers.

But here will go toy and toy and toy, the heaps of reheaped colors and shapes that the kid reassembles into talking horses and systems of levitation and little homes stuffed with little furniture.


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