[I guess this should be filed under "based on a true story"]
My Sunday clothes never fit well.
They were either a size too big
or a size too small.
They were usually wool and scratchy.
On days when my Mom didn’t have the energy to stop me,
I would wear sweat pants underneath.
My sweatpants always had holes in them,
but they were comfortable.
Wool suits with clip-on ties
over deteriorating cotton sweat pants.
The perishable was swallowed up
by the imperishable.
I wish my Mom would’ve had more energy.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
I was at the bus stop on the first nice day of spring, minding my business, listening to Al Green on my headphones, and watching a balding squirrel eat an almond. The squirrel was uncomfortably close. I assumed it was a socially awkward creature, with no squirrel friends, so it tried to make acquaintances with humans waiting for the bus. I wasn’t in the mood to be social, so I just stared it down. An old woman with a hobble-step stopped, looked at the squirrel, then at me. Not wanting to be rude to an elder, I took my head phones out. “Everyone’s got to eat” she said, gesturing towards the socially awkward squirrel, “God made us all with stomachs.” It was then that I realized: I was rude, old women say weird things, and I shouldn’t judge squirrels eating almonds at the bus stop.