augury doggerel

Wednesday, May 21, 2003


The bar owner's moon-faced niece is in long white satin. She has white ribbons in her hair and she clops in shiny shoes. This party in the pub is just for her, but business is slow these days and the pub has to stay open for paying customers like me. She drifts over and stands at the foreigner's shoulder, not quite tall enough to see my papers on the bar, and acts out curiosity at what I write. I ask and she tells me her name and her age, both, it turns out, the same as our cat's. She's happy I look suddenly pleased, so she looks pleased for me. I do not scratch her behind the ears. Then she's off to old kisses at the door, the smell of cakes and snuffed candles and aunties wafting down the street.


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