The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Wednesday

Stirred Up By Rain
By Chase Twichell

I fired up the mower
although it was about to rain --
a chill late September afternoon,
wild flowers re-seeding themselves
in the blue smoke of the gas-oil mix.

To be attached to things is illusion,
yet I'm attached to things.
Cold, clouds, wind, color -- the sky
is what the brush-cutter wants to cut,
but again the sky is spared.

One of two things can happen:
either the noisy machine dissolves in the dusk
and the dusk takes refuge in the steady rain,
or the meadow wakes shorn of its flowers.
Believing is different than understanding.


Do not, do not, do not let me become optimistic about the Red Sox. I know what will happen if I do. I should follow my father's policy of betting on the team I don't want to win, so that I'm either happy or a few bucks richer, which would also make me happy, but I can't bet on the Yankees. What will be, will be and I'll happily concede the World Series if the right person wins the November election anyway.

I know I promised to answer comments but LiveJournal freaked out last night! It's not my fault! Also I am not coherent because ashinae pointed out that the Theban Band had done this wonderful Lucius/Snape manip that feeds the snake-head cane fetish. And Kim Schultz drew the delectable Christian Bale in The Machinist.

I was going to rant about George Bush and Lynne Cheney and Sinclair and Fox News, but other people are already doing it and it's too rainy for any more negative energy around me right now. So I am just going to give big hugs and birthday wishes to hallucinateme!

Tonight is Spirit Night at the local McDonalds, which means the teachers serve the food, so I have to take my younger son to eat there, after taking my older son to an inexplicable school-evening birthday party at Shadowland to play laser tag. We'll see if any homework gets done at all.

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