augury doggerel

Thursday, October 24, 2002


On the bus I was part of The Ages of Man, an old play in three brief scenes. The boy in the seat ahead had peculiar cupped ears, pink smooth skin, a long graceful neck. Already he missed a bit of hair from his small crown. The man behind me, whom I never dared turn to face, talked continuously from when I sat down to when I escaped, whispering in my ear and talking to no one about nothing. His breath was decayed, a gas rising from rotten guts. And I sat in the middle, hunched over my reading but watching the trees and a boy's soft ears and listening to the voice of mumbling doom.


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