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No white trash please.
And no black trash either.
Thank you God for the whites. For his pearly whites. For the hollow white of disappointment. For the expectant white. For the white of a letter sealed with spit and a postage stamp.
The bathroom stalls here are all too familiar. Tips for the future: Arrange a hookup in the men's bathroom instead of the women's. I have a strict "don't ask, don't tell" policy. And no, it isn't because I disagree with Obama or I agree with Clinton or I wouldn't wrestle a boy. It's because I'm standing on a tightrope and two words will push me off, and I'm afraid of what side I'll land on.
There's a dead fish floating on the surface of the pond. But this isn't an open casket viewing. Onlookers slow the rhythm of their footsteps, but not one stops. Throw food at me, but not coins, cuz I could preach and preach, but I couldn't move one of them to place flowers on the grave.
Best post about the pond ever.
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ReplyDeleteEverything you write is perfect. If you wrote a book, it would be an instant best seller and the pages would be tear stained and I would take that book around with me like a baby blanket because it would just be perfection in the form of paper and ink. I want to be able to write like you. That's all.
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