Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Chronic Discontent



I spot it by the mailbox
wearing a gray terrycloth robe and a pair of black Isotoner leopard slippers
entertaining the messy neighbor
with predictions of bear sightings and blood engorged ticks
brought on by a mutual repulsion for yard work.
Later it disguises itself
as a local journalist
gasping about disharmony
throughout the Mid-Hudson valley
allergic to crowds and absent at the town street festival
it prefers to drive home alone
belittle the spouse
complain of indigestion
and then eat
a hunk of Swiss cheese
and leftover asparagus

that the army ants have snubbed.




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