augury doggerel

Tuesday, December 17, 2002


An old conceit: if the young me somehow walked by me today, what strange uncle might that witless kid think I am. My hair now razed, then long and wavy red. My skin then set smooth sails, now in the doldrums. I can feel a scar on my head where a little girl heaved a very big rock at a little boy instead of into a brook. There's another scar where a deaf dog bit a boy resting from crazy tackle in the grass. My skull is scored. I keep brown leaves and chestnuts and white shells on the sill. I write these things.


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