INDIAN HILL

Short, round, wide flat nose in the middle of his puffy shiny face, Thin whiskers pointing in every direction, This man... Scrubbing his hands in the restroom with a lot of water, yanking paper towels from the dispenser. . .more paper towel s and he wiped his hands with them. More towels, furiously rubbing-- He ripped four or five more paper towels...opened the door and left the restroom. Outside he was squeezing the paper towels in his left hand talking to a friend and laughing. Later he was looking at sex videos next to the Drama section--nothing I haven't done  Thumbing through racks of sex videos-- While I was torn between. . . Double Indemnity with Barbara Stanwyck . . . Crazy Heart with Jeff Bridges  Where did the wax-like puffy man ditch his paper towels? I think.   His sterilized hands. I bought Crazy Heart , wondered where the man was going, If he bought any videos. And where he dumped the paper towels.

Warm hawks float up to hunt Working for a living...    Skree Skree ...from pole to tension lines...    diving-- there    darting-- now    Scraping meals off the earth, their due    Roving creatures victims of prey on their     planet Our world

    Thin rain sifted down and I was glad I had put on my thick wool cap when I stepped on the deck, thinking about things-- the day, cool jazz music playing in my studio, thin crescent moon and Venus hiding behind clouds, the woman giving me trouble, and how nobody took her seriously but me for reasons that I'd begun to figure out.  Asking me questions I didn't have answers for, until I stopped her cold.      'You dig hard, until everyone is worn out,' I'd said.  'You grind and grind and grind until there's nothing left'.    Others had told her the same things, I said.             Then she started to cry, and I walked out of the office and thought, You're not so tough, are you?'    Floating down slow, the rain, my felt cap warm on my head and all of the stars I couldn't see, weather swirling in front of them that would pass in a few hours, maybe a day.  My neck felt loosened up now, the piano chords unfolding beneath a sweet

Roof Top Cafe | Key West, Florida Stepped out on my back deck this evening, westerly wind kicking in from a darkening purple sky, I and thought 'Damn, I should be in Key West at the Roof Top Cafe having conch chowder, local snapper with shrimp gravy, swiss chard & garlic mashed potatoes and a brittle-cold Tanqueray martini straight up...and I'd be fine ...  (click 'Roof Top Cafe' above and jump to Key West)

We all have toys; big boy and girl toys, and little kids have their stuff.  Is it against our Homeowners Association to park kid's toys on the front walks, on lawns and in driveways?  I leave it to the HOA police for that determination.  For me?  Fine, it's okay, let kids put their toys on the property.  So the tricycles and miniature Ferraris and bikes, leave them be, I say.  I'd rather hear the charming squeals of children playing in the yard or in the court than the rumble of sub-woofers pounding down the street from overloaded vehicles and oblivious drivers.  Rather hear the clunk of a ball and bat in a game of street ball than see adults pulling up poop from their dogs on the greenbelt and shoving it in plastic bags.   Let children have fun, let them be free.  Keep dogs leashed and doing business on your own front lawn.  Pink two-wheelers, streamers and knapsacks, electric race cars and even radio controlled monster crawlers--free the kids, keep an eye on adults. W

Fresh produce--Claremont Farmer's Market, Sunday May 2, 2010