Friday, August 12, 2016
August 11, 2016
Poor Tony shows up to beg off mowing. He says, “It’s raining!” I say, “I need the grass to be cut.” He hears the frenzy in my voice. He sees the grim set of my jaw. The lawn gets mowed. Good mornings in the studio, but it goes to hell after that. Afternoons in bed, unconscious. Evenings watching the Olympics. Stand by the pond with fish food in my hand, watching Minos move in the depths. It could be the sea and he a monster of stupendous magnitude.