at the corner |
 |
of bowdoin and evanston |
|
housepainters get drunk playing the weather odds like kids
who neglect their homework on nights when snow is predicted. i remember waking
up and rushing to the window, disappointed to see only a dusting w/ tire
tracks of cars and schoolbuses exposing asphalt in black ribbons below and
it was time again for me to fake being sick, another long day of tv and mad
magazine. i was absent often in 9th grade, sometimes for no other reason
than i asked for it. my mother let me because
she was lonely. yesterday morning puddles were
iced over in gutters (a rare thing in seattle) and last night there were
rumors of snow. i'd kept up with sarah's beering at arne's dutch ned's
poetry reading and we wake
up rather late, 9:38, with lulu sitting up on the bed watching something
we can't see in the yard behind our heads--but it's not the man on the ladder
who hovered in our windows on tuesday scraping flaking paint to prep a new
blue skin for this old house, a floor of which
we rent. his gamble paid off and i hope he's home somewhere, nursing
his head and rolling over, enjoying the rain. |
