By all means, let your offspring play in the
street. Send them darting into the roadway for a pack of Sweet-Tarts in the
path of an oncoming, three-ton emergency response vehicle. If the force of
Gravity won’t stop you, what will? Inertia? Sit in your lazyboy reclining yard
chair, sipping warm beer this wonderful morning. It’s a holiday, of course. THE
holiday, with flags and bunting and parades.
Grandma experiments with a hula-hoop while the kidlings scramble for candy. She’s likely to break a hip, but she won’t drop her cigarette. It dangles securely form the corner of her lips. Ash blows in the wind.
What a great day for a parade! It’s breezy, sunny. It’s not raining. And… I’m surprised to see it so early, but there it is… a blinding white full moon. Mavis bends over to snatch a chocolate bar up from the sidewalk before the grubby fisted neighbor boy can get it. These are the glorious sorrows of Satan. What a glorious day.
Old glorious. Here comes the Slaughterhouse float, with red, white, and blue intestines for bunting and a shower of gore. Here’s a pickup with the County Beef Queen in a sparkled, spangled gown. The children wave at her Heiferness, and scream, “Throw CANDY!” The Beef Queen reaches deep into the feedbag slung over her shoulder like a newsies satchel, and pulls out a hand full of gumdrops which she hurls to the edges of the street. The children dive for them. Cousin Art does too. He bowls over several of the floormonkeys. He was on the football team in high school, you know…
Two girls in faded green Liberty costumes drag a reluctant camel down the street. A pimple-faced boy follows to pick up the dung.
“What was that you said about Gravity?
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“No. Really. I want to know.”
Two boys in shorts and t-shirts sword fight in front of us with burning sparklers in place of foils.
“It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Who worries about Gravity?”
“No one, apparently. Forget I said anything.”
Grandma experiments with a hula-hoop while the kidlings scramble for candy. She’s likely to break a hip, but she won’t drop her cigarette. It dangles securely form the corner of her lips. Ash blows in the wind.
What a great day for a parade! It’s breezy, sunny. It’s not raining. And… I’m surprised to see it so early, but there it is… a blinding white full moon. Mavis bends over to snatch a chocolate bar up from the sidewalk before the grubby fisted neighbor boy can get it. These are the glorious sorrows of Satan. What a glorious day.
Old glorious. Here comes the Slaughterhouse float, with red, white, and blue intestines for bunting and a shower of gore. Here’s a pickup with the County Beef Queen in a sparkled, spangled gown. The children wave at her Heiferness, and scream, “Throw CANDY!” The Beef Queen reaches deep into the feedbag slung over her shoulder like a newsies satchel, and pulls out a hand full of gumdrops which she hurls to the edges of the street. The children dive for them. Cousin Art does too. He bowls over several of the floormonkeys. He was on the football team in high school, you know…
Two girls in faded green Liberty costumes drag a reluctant camel down the street. A pimple-faced boy follows to pick up the dung.
“What was that you said about Gravity?
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“No. Really. I want to know.”
Two boys in shorts and t-shirts sword fight in front of us with burning sparklers in place of foils.
“It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Who worries about Gravity?”
“No one, apparently. Forget I said anything.”
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